


Harry Potter and the White Rose

by Red_vines83



Series: Write the Way to my Heart [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Background Relationships, Bisexual Harry Potter, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Gay Draco Malfoy, How Do I Tag, I'm serious about the slow burn, M/M, No Angst, Or at least bi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Pre-Slash, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Self-Indulgent, Series, Slow Burn, Soulmarks, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Work In Progress, no beta we die like men, there we go, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22845907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_vines83/pseuds/Red_vines83
Summary: Harry Potter has always had an intricate tattoo of... something on his ankle. In public, he had to have it covered up, and in the safety of his cupboard, it was to dark to see. When he arrives at Hogwarts for the first time, it's revealed to him that it's a soulmark - and a more detailed one than most. Before long, he notices that his soulmate's mark has shown up on him, though faint. One problem: With his newfound fame, half the school has touched him. It could belong to any of them. He begins writing to his soulmate, and over time, the white rose on the inside of his wrist becomes brighter and brighter. However, the person on the other end of the messages isn't quite who he expected...Soulmate au where:- A wizard and their soulmate get their marks at two years old- When you make skin contact, their mark appears somewhere on your skin- It appears faintly at first, but gets brighter as they fall in love with you- Any ink on your skin also gets transferred your your soulmate's until you wash it off
Relationships: Background Dean Thomas/Seamus Finnigan, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Write the Way to my Heart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642351
Comments: 15
Kudos: 115





	1. The Sorting

**Author's Note:**

> Oh jeez, here we go again. It's been months since I last wrote a fanfiction, and I don't think I've ever written Drarry before. It's going to be mostly based off the books, but we have Draco's input now, so hopefully the Gryffindors won't be entirly stupid when rushing off into danger. Also, I'm going to add in some headcanons and straight up change some aspects of the plot because I get canon and fanon confused. Everyone gets coupled up in the end, but it's a really slow burn, so there won't be any actual releationships until like book 3, and Drarry won't happen until book 5. I really like slow burn okay.
> 
> Rated T for language. Half the people I know was swearing like a sailor by eleven, let Draco say fuck.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry Potter arrives at Hogwarts and the concept of soulmates is explained to him

“I can help you there.”

Malfoy offered his hand with a smirk. Harry looked up at him and saw Dudley, recruiting his mindlessly faithful followers. The same followers who had taunted Harry for years. He thought of Malfoy’s dismissal of Ron and his family and decided there and then that he didn’t want to be a part of that. He batted Malfoy’s hand away.

“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.”

Surprise, offense, and bitterness flashed across Malfoy’s face in quick succession, and he pulled back the outstretched hand as though the brief touch had somehow stung him. His expression quickly shifted into disdain. “Have it your way, Potter.” The crowd of new students parted for him as he strutted to the back of the room, silently followed by Crabbe and Goyle. Harry glanced at Ron, who was staring at him in a way that could only be described as fish-like. Before he could say anything, McGonagall reappeared at the front of the room. He shrugged helplessly at Ron and followed her into the Great Hall.

As soon as they entered the Hall, Harry’s altercation with Malfoy was pushed from his mind by the sheer magic of the place. Candles filled in the air, casting a bright glow across the room. Golden plates lay on the four long tables, glittering under the lights. Briefly, Harry wondered why they were empty if the students were to eat, but he was far too distracted by the rest of the room to dwell on it. Ghosts were floating among the tables – and Harry was surprised only by how unsurprised he was – and at the far end of the Hall on a slightly raised platform was a grander table where the teachers sat. He only glanced over them, however, before his gaze was dragged back upwards to the sky.  
The night sky overhead was dotted with stars, obscured only in places by dark clouds. The crescent moon shone brightly, a faint glow around the edges, and it seemed to have started raining despite not a drop landing on them as they sailed to the school. His questions were soon answered by the haughty girl they had met on the train. Even if it wasn’t real, it was magic, and that was pretty damn cool. By the look on his face, Ron was equally impressed, even if it didn’t come from a place of wonder. He had mentioned earlier that he cam from a family of wizards, but clearly all of this was more extravagant than the average wizarding home.

The crowd of first years stopped pushing and walking and started craning up to get a look at the front of the room. Harry tried to stand on his tiptoes to look, but he had been so distracted that he got pushed to the middle of the group, and he had never been tall. The heads in front of him blocked his view, and the whispering was so loud that he couldn’t hear the words to what sounded like a song. Sighing, he gave up and waited for the crowd to thin out.

An eternal minute later, the crowd had thinned enough that he caught a glimpse of a worn, brown old hat with a rip in its seam. McGonagall was standing next to the hat, reading from a long scroll.

“Malfoy, Draco.” 

Harry watched as Malfoy swaggered to the front of the crowd, the candlelight shimmering on his smooth, platinum blond hair. Aside from the glint in his grey eyes, Malfoy seemed thoroughly bored by the magic Hall.

“The Malfoys worked for You-Know-Who,” Ron whispered. “Slytherins, the lot of them. Rich tossers, too” Harry nodded, watching the ceremony. Malfoy sat down on the stool and McGonagall lowered the hat onto his head. It had barely touched his head before-

“SLYTHERIN!”

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin a second time as the table on the far side of the hall erupted into cheers.

“What did I tell you?” Ron said as the ruckus died down.

“We get sorted by a hat,” Harry grinned, mainly to himself. “I love magic.”

The sorting went quiet again, aside from a few more “well-known” names, as Ron said. There were a few more names before she reached the “P”s – “Parkinson, Pansy” went straight to Slytherin and sat across from Malfoy, “Patil” and “Patil”, both in different houses, “Perks, Sally-Ann” was sorted into Gryffindor, then –

“Potter, Harry.”

The whispering came back in full force. Harry felt like he was falling out of his body as he walked robotically towards to stool upon which the hat sat. Thousands of eyes were trained on him, and he was dimly aware of the fact that his breathing had sped up. He forced himself to the stool, his mouth dry. He took a moment to thank god that his dark skin hid, at least a bit, how warm his face suddenly felt. Before he knew it, the hat was on his head, and the dizziness was alleviated, the sick feeling dulled.

“Harry Potter.” The Sorting Hat whispered in his ear. “You’d do well in many houses. Oh, but that’s interesting… not entirely unexpected, considering the circumstances though…”

“Excuse me, sorry, what are you talking about?” Harry thought politely.

“Nothing, nothing. Just something I saw in your mind. Let’s see… bravery, yes, of course there would have to be. I doubt you’d survive without. Not a bad mind, either… loyalty and determination… my, that’s quite the ambition. Only to be expected, of course…”

“Where are you going to put me?”

“Be patient, although that’s not your forte, is it? Perhaps not Hufflepuff, then. You desperately want to prove yourself; I can see that… there’s an overwhelming amount of Slytherin here, in more ways than once, but you could do well in Gryffindor.”

Harry remembered Malfoy sitting down at Slytherin. “Not Slytherin.”

The Sorting Hat laughed. “Funny, that reasoning. This will be interesting to watch play out. I can see your point. After all, the two houses are more similar than most people think. Perhaps more so than the other houses. You know, you could find what you’re looking for in Slytherin.”

“Not Slytherin.”

“Oh well, if you’re sure. Better be – GRYFFINDOR!” The Sorting Hat shouted this aloud to the Great Hall, and the raucous applause of the hall thumped in Harry’s ears as he walked over to the table decorated in red. He sat next to one of the Weasley twins from the train platform, which put him across from the train girl, who introduced herself as Hermione Granger. The Hall eventually settled down, and Harry tried to make himself look as small as possible as, one by one, the rest of the year got sorted.

~ 

“Of course Potter gets the loudest applause. I bet he loved that.” Draco stabbed at the Yorkshire pudding which had appeared on his plate after the ceremony was over.

“Sure you’re not just projecting?” Pansy smirked. Draco glared.

“I am not dramatic!”

“I never said you were. It’s interesting that that’s the first thing you jumped to, though.”

“It was heavily implied,” he snapped.

“I think you’re just bitter that he rejected your offer. Who knows, if you hadn’t been such an arse, he could have been in Slytherin with us,” Blaise piped up through a mouthful of potatoes.

“What do I care?” He stabbed the Pudding again to prove that he definitely didn’t care. “Besides, he’s ‘Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived’ and all that nonsense. Of course he’d go to the House of the Foolhardy.”

Pansy smirked. “Okay, Draco.” There was a knowing glint in her eyes that he knew all too well, having known her since they were babies. He didn’t like it one bit.

“I mean it. The only difference it makes is that it would have been good publicity to have him in our house.” He wasn’t wrong, after all. The name of the Boy Who Lived was powerful, it was just too bad that he was an annoying, clueless idiot, who was currently stuffing his face with treacle tart.

“Sure. Anyway, what do you think’s up with the third floor?” She kept smiling for the rest of the feast, which Draco found personally offensive.

~

“Dad says that mine’s a fellytone. It’s muggle technology,” Ron said proudly, looking at his ankle. He had been sorted into Gryffindor, to nobody’s surprise but his own.

“Maybe your soulmate’s a muggle,” suggested Dean, lounging across the windowsill. 

Harry entered and sat on his bed. “What’s this about phones and muggles?”

“It’s my soulmark!” Ron grinned, showing him. 

“So what’s everyone else got?” Dean said, sliding off the windowsill and landing with a thump on the floor. “I just have a painting, no surprise there.”

“I have a leaf,” said Neville, squinting in the dark. “I wonder what plant it’s from. It didn’t match anything in any muggle or magic books I found.”

“What about you, then Harry?” Ron said.

“That’s a thing? I thought I was the only one.”

“Nah, mate, it’s a wizard thing.” Seamus swung his leg over the side of the bed to show a tattoo of a red mushroom cloud. “And wizard’s soulmates, you get it when you’re two. Dad got in trouble once for having an illegal tattoo, police wouldn’t believe his parents when they said it just appeared. And Dean’s got it wrong. The mark shows your own personality. Ron just has a telephone because he’s as much as a nut for muggle technology as his dad, going by our conversations today.”

“Soulmarks are also how the government tracks muggleborns,” Ron added. “So, what’s yours?”

“Hang on.” Harry sat on his bed. His aunt and uncle always kept it covered with a bandage, saying that what was under it was “uglier than that horrible scar.” Still, he’d had a look sometimes, in the darkness and safety of his cupboard. He’d gotten a proper look after being moved to Dudley’s old room, and now he knew what to expect when he took the bandage off. The other Gryffindors raised an eyebrow and glanced at each other.

Harry’s soulmark was the caduceus, except the winged staff was replaced with a wand. The two snakes which curled around it were different colours – one red, the other a faded grey. All soulmarks shone, but Harry’s seemed to be even brighter in the dark. Nobody said a word, unsure of how they should feel about snakes on the ankle of The Boy Who Lived. Then, Ron spoke up.

“Of course Harry gets the coolest soulmark,” he rolled his eyes, “whoever his soulmate is, they’re going to hate him for putting bloody snakes on their skin.”

“What do you mean?”

“Snakes are Slytherins, and a symbol of—”

“When you first make skin contact with your soulmate,” Dean intervened, “Their soulmark appears randomly on your skin, faintly at first. Never on the face though, that hardly ever happens. Also, any ink on your skin will be transferred to theirs. It’s a way to help soulmates find each other. See, Seamus, I do know these things.” He threw a pillow at Seamus, who dodged and stuck out his tongue.

“How come it’s faint at first?”

“As two soulmates fall in love, the soulmarks become brighter and vivid, until they glow with the same brightness as the wizard’s own mark. In the rare case that two soulmates fall in love before touching, the mark will appear just as bright when it first appears. The presence of a mark is merely a sign of compatibility, and it is possible to live a good life with someone other than one’s soulmate, or indeed, alone. However, there are other ways in which it is beneficial to find one’s soulmate.” Neville quoted. He looked as everyone’s faces turned towards him. “What? Gran made me learn as much as I could about magic before school, I learned some of this by wrote.”

“Right. Well, yeah, that’s pretty much it. It’s basically an ink-based link between soulmates which allowed you to write to them once you’ve made contact.” Seamus summed up. “How come your Gran made you learn all this by heart? It only came up as a matter of interest with my family.”

And so, the conversation turned from soulmarks to families. Harry lay back on his bed, choosing not to take part in the conversation. Ignoring the sympathetic glances from Neville and Dean, he closed his eyes. It made a lot of sense, he thought, that the Dursleys had tried to hide the mark from him. A scar could be explained away. Such a complex tattoo was less simple. He was surprised they hadn’t just cut his leg off, although that would have looked altogether too suspicious. Besides, not even the Dursleys would cut a two-year old’s leg off.

He wondered where his soulmate was, what she was doing. As he lay there, letting conversation wash over him, he felt a spike of adrenaline course through his veins. A month ago, he hadn’t even known that magic existed. Now, he was lying in a magic castle, breathing magic air and listening to magic kids talk about their magic families. It felt like a dream, and he soon drifted off into real dreams, ignoring the small pit of anticipation that had settled at the bottom of his stomach.

~

Draco lounged on his bed, his plain black robes folded neatly on the chair next to him. He had taken the bed nearest the window, which showed a view of the mountains. Being in the dungeons, there was no real view of the Hogwarts grounds, and Blaise had managed to get their window stuck on mountains. It wasn’t too bad, really. Rather cold, though.

“Finally at Hogwarts, then!” Pansy waltzed into the dorm, causing a half-naked Blaise to scream and hide behind his bed opposite Draco’s. She rolled her eyes. “It’s only me. I’ve seen you shirtless before, and I can’t say I was that impressed.” He stuck his tongue out at her as she fell into the green velvet chair next to Draco’s bed. He raised an eyebrow.

“How the hell did you get in here? Blaise tried to get into the girl’s dorms earlier and they threw him right out.”

“The girls’ dorms are charmed,” she said, “boys can’t get in. Didn’t you pay any attention to what your parents told you?”

“I daresay my father was too busy trying to convince me that muggles are scum, and my mother the opposite, to teach me that the girls’ dorm doesn’t let in boys,” he drawled.

“Why aren’t the boys’ dorms charmed as well?” said Blaise bitterly, emerging with a dressing gown. “We need protection against you, specifically.”

Pansy smirked. “Whatever could you mean? I’m just an innocent little girl.” Blaise threw a pillow at her as she laughed. “Both dorms are charmed. They let me in because I’m not interested in boys.” She wrinkled up her nose. 

“Well that’s just rude,” Blaise pouted. Draco snorted from behind his potions book. “Why are you laughing? What if our soulmate’s a girl? How are we supposed to find her if we can’t go to the girls’ dorm?”

“I do hope you’re not implying that you planned to touch girls in their sleep until one of their soulmarks appeared on your skin,” said Pansy. “If that’s the case, then I thank Merlin that I slapped you when we were five. My skin is pure.” She caught another pillow and threw it back with deadly accuracy, only for Blaise to throw it back and miss, hitting Draco in the head. He gasped and dropped his book, raising a tentative hand to his hair, which now looked as bad as Potter’s. Pansy giggled.

“You’re so dead!” He shouted, jumping at Blaise with a pillow in his hands. Blaise and Pansy grabbed pillows to arm themselves. Vince and Greg watched on as their beds soon became bare, shrugged, and headed down to the Common Room to read.


	2. The White Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry has his first potions lesson and nearly has a run-in with Filch

Harry woke up comfortably warm. For a moment, he was just disappointed that he would have to wake up and cook breakfast when he was so relaxed, but when his eyes blinked open, the thought faded away and he curled up, determined to enjoy the next five minutes. His wand rested on the bedside table, and he smiled. It had been a week already since he arrived at Hogwarts, and yesterday he’d nearly managed to levitate a feather. After a few minutes, he sat up and yawned. A glance at his timetable told him that he would have Defense Against the Dark Arts first. They’d already had it twice, and Quirrell seemed to know his stuff, but Harry privately wondered if he wouldn’t eventually collapse from fear at the mere mention of the Dark Arts. Just in case, he decided to read on his own as well. He grabbed the DADA book from the pile next to his wand, glancing at the time as he did so. Six o’clock. Breakfast wasn’t until half past seven. Curse his aunt and uncle for making him wake up early every day – nobody else was going to wake up for at least another half hour, and he’d had a lie in. Sighing, he set to reading the book.

Ron was the next to wake up. Harry put his book down and grinned. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Ron mumbled back. “Wha’ time is it?”

“Quarter to seven,” he said. Ron yawned and pushed himself up in bed. He caught sight of the book on Harry’s bed.

“When did you get up?”

“Six. Breakfast’s at seven thirty, though I’m not so sure I can eat after the feast we had last night.”

“Are you mad? Mate, I could eat the whole feast again right here, right now.” Ron swung his legs out of bed and stretched. “I’m starving.”

“Well, you’re going to have to wait. Can you show me that Exploding Snap game?” 

One by one, the rest of the dorm woke up and joined the game. Halfway through their sixth round, Neville saw that breakfast was in ten minutes, and they rushed to get ready in time. Harry pulled up his socks around the soulmark – Ron had suggested that he cover it up so that he wouldn’t be attacked by people trying to find out if it’s them, not that it had done much good – and followed everyone down to breakfast.

The Gryffindor boys swarmed around Harry, as was their habit after a few too many people had attacked him, and made an effort to avoid getting pelted with water balloons by Peeves the poltergeist, failing miserably. Sopping wet, they made it to the Great Hall and sat down to eat, already drying off as Hogwarts’s magic warmed them up.

Harry picked at his toast; his already weak appetite dulled by the whispers which followed him around. The Gryffindors had already seen him get hit in the face by a water balloon, trip down the staircase and contend with bed hair, so they dropped the hero-worship pretty quickly, but the rest of the school was staring at him constantly. He blocked them out and focused on talking to Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville, with Hermione occasionally adding her input about the subjects. The first four periods passed by without much more incident than a lot of unwanted attention and Seamus exploding a feather in charms, and finally they headed to lunch. Harry looked down at his timetable.

“We have double potions next,” said Harry, “with the Slytherins. That’s new.” They were supposed to have another potions lesson earlier that week, but the heads of houses had been involved in some start-of-year meeting, so they’d gotten a free period instead, which Harry spent being taught wizard chess by Ron.

“It’s taught by Snape,” Ron said through a mouthful of bread. He swallowed. “He favours the Slytherins, Fred and George said. The Slytherins are evil, most of their parents were –” he lowered his voice and leaned across the table – “most of their parents were Death Eaters. Followers of You-Know-Who.” He sat up again. “They’re gonna hate you especially.”

Harry frowned. “But you can’t judge people by their parents. And they can’t all be bad, even if they have more of a predisposition.” He remembered the sorting hat trying to put him in Slytherin. “Just because you’re ambitious and you look out for your own doesn’t mean that you’re automatically evil.”

“You’ll see what I mean. They might not all be like Malfoy, but sooner or later they’ll be influenced that way, hating muggles. Everyone says so.”

“Not everyone’s always right, though.” He gestured round at all the glances people were giving him. “I was a baby when I survived Voldemort.” He ignored Ron’s glare. “All these people are treating me as a hero, when I don't even know how I survived. Not everyone gets influenced by the people who brought them up, either. There was a girl in my primary school whose parents were absolutely racist, and she gave me a sandwich once. That was before she knew that I was an outcast. That’s another thing – in my old school, everyone pretended I didn’t exist, and now I’m here it’s the total opposite. You know, there’s probably some muggle-born kids in Slytherin.”

Ron stared at him for a full ten seconds after he was done speaking. Harry fidgeted with the corner of his robe. “It’s just like, not good to assume,” he muttered, feeling his face heat up.

“I never thought about it like that,” Ron said, looking embarrassed. “You’re right, but just be careful. It’s difficult to change something you’ve been raised with. It’s safer to be wary around the Slytherins.”

“I suppose. At least we can agree that Malfoy’s a prick. So what else can we expect from potions?”

“Well, Perce says that…”

~

“…we’ll be starting small, cures for minor illnesses, you know,” said Draco. Pansy was reapplying her makeup across the table from him, having heard this already from her parents. Millicent Bulstrode was listening intently – having been raised by her muggle mother, she knew very little about Hogwarts, and Draco was taking the opportunity to show off. “Professor Snape and my father got along well in school, and they still stay in touch. We’ll be making a cure for boils this lesson, you must remember to add the porcupine quills only once the cauldron cools down, that’s very important.”

Millicent nodded and Pansy rolled her eyes. “Don’t feel pressured, Millie. Draco’s just trying to show off, he knows this because he’s a nerd.”

Draco flushed as Millicent giggled. “I am not! I got potions lessons before Hogwarts is all, Father wanted me to be prepared. Plus, I knew which potion we would be doing, so I read ahead for this specifically.”

“Nerd,” Pansy teased. Blaise snorted and Draco crossed his arms.

“I don’t know why I associate with you people,” he sniffed, ignoring the rest of the Slytherin table turning their heads to see what was going on. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Draco honey, that attitude might work on the other houses, but I’ve seen you cry because you dropped your ice cream,” Pansy said. Millicent gasped through her tears of laughter.

“I can imagine that, little Draco with his ice cream cone on the floor.”

“Who said anything about little? This was during the summer.” Blaise said. Draco turned to him, widening his eyes in betrayal. Pansy winked at Millicent, which shut her up, he thought smugly. He waited for his face to cool down, all too aware that pink and blond didn’t go well together, before taking a breath.

“Anyway, Professor Snape favours us, and since we’re going to be in class with the Gryffindors, he’s going to be so focused on their stupidity that he won’t look twice at us unless we’re doing something he can give us points for. So add the porcupine quills after the potion’s cooled down unless you want to have burns all over your face. It’s the only dangerous mistake that you can really make with this potion.”

“Thank you, Draco.” Millicent grinned, and he smirked. He wasn’t so distracted, however, that he didn’t notice Harry flinching when Professor Quirrell looked in his direction. In fact, Quirrell looked familiar – not that he could place his face. Draco was sure he hated him, but he couldn’t think why, and it was hardly professional for a teacher to be biased against his students. He’d have to ask his father.

*

“…If you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.” 

Draco raised an eyebrow from the back of the class. Professor Snape really was dramatic enough to put him to shame. He hadn’t met him a lot, at least in person, but he always gave him a vague impression of an oversized bat. After his little speech, he started to harass Potter about asphodel and bezoars. Draco would have had more sympathy had he not remembered yesterday’s insult. As it was, he made a slightly snide comment about Potter’s hair to Greg and Vince which had them both in tears laughing, at least until Neville’s potion melted Seamus’s cauldron and covered him in burns. He glanced across the room at Pansy and mouthed. “Porcupine quills” just before Professor Snape announced the same thing to the class. She rolled her eyes pointedly as they all climbed onto their stools.

~

After Snape was done clearing away the ruined potion and insulting both Harry and Neville, Harry read the next instructions carefully.

“Uh, it says that we have to make sure the seagrass needs to be taken out of the bottle from the bottom of the cauldron so that the lacewings don’t stick.” As he read this out, he saw Hermione push up her sleeves and submerge her arms into her and Lavender’s potion, as Lavender kept her bushy hair out of the way.

“Rather you than me, I don’t trust our potion making skills after what happened to Neville,” said Ron, staring solemnly at Neville’s empty seat. Harry sighed. 

“If I die, it’s on you.”

“Noted.”

He grabbed the bottle, pushed up his sleeves, and pushed his hands into the white potion, glaring at a grinning Ron the whole time. It felt just like slightly warm water, which was exactly the wrong consistency for something so opaque. After he was done, he grabbed the towel and hurried to scrub the potion off.

“That was disgusting, is it supposed to look and smell like milky water? It’s like tea without the tea.”

“You missed a bit, mate.” Ron pointed at a white spot on the inside of Harry’s wrist. Harry looked closer. 

“Wait, no -” His eyes widened and he showed Ron properly. “That’s a tattoo, a – a soulmark, right?” 

Ron nodded; his eyes wide. “Yeah, mate. A soullink. Man, that sucks.”

“What? Why? It’s pretty.” Despite being faint, the white rose on his skin stood out against his dark skin and he traced the individual petals carefully. 

“To start with, it could be anyone couldn’t it? Half the school must have tried to touch you by now, and a fair few succeeded. I can’t remember all their faces, and there’s no way you can, either.” Harry shuddered, remembering the few minutes where Ron had left him alone on the way to potions and he’d been ambushed by the whole corridor. “Plus, it’s going to be horrible in summer. You’re going to need that covered up, else the whole school’s going to be looking for whichever poor sod has a white rose on their ankle and snakes wherever else.”

“Snakes are cute, my soulmate is lucky to have them. Anyway, we need to add the lacewings.”

“Yeah, alright. Just, never say that again,” Ron said painfully, stirring in the final ingredients. 

“Which part? Snakes being cute? Because they are, have you seen them?” Ron slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Shut it. We’re not going to be able to see Hagrid at the weekend if I send you to the hospital wing.” He took his wand out of his pocket and waved it over the potion. It turned lilac, a far cry from the bright pink of Hermione and Lavender’s potion, but unlikely to kill anyone. “Let’s get this bottled up and get out of here.”

Later at Hagrid’s, Ron told Hagrid about the lesson while Harry worked his way through a rock cake that he thought might have actual rocks in. He looked out the small window up at the school, knowing that his soulmate was in there somewhere. While Hagrid wasn’t looking, he slipped the rock cake into his pocket and saw Ron do the same. Soon, it started to get dark. They said their goodbyes and headed back up to the castle, aware that they had already stayed out too long.

“I wonder what she’s doing right now,” Harry said.

“Who?”

“My soulmate, duh.”

“Who said it was a girl?”

“Wh- nobody, but I’m straight,”

Ron frowned “How can you know that for sure? You’re eleven.”

“I don’t know, I haven’t thought of it before!”

“Right, so you don’t actually know, you just assumed.”

“Well, when you put it that way-” Harry trailed off and shook his head. “I’m straight though.”

“Whatever you say.”

“I do say.”

Ron sighed and changed the subject. “Did you see the Daily Prophet?”

“The bit about the break in at Gringotts’s?” Harry thought back but was unable to call to mind the rest of the article. “What about it?”

“It was the day after you went with Hagrid to the bank.”

Harry uncomfortably remembered Hagrid taking a small bag of something from a heavily guarded vault, but Ron had no way of knowing that. “What about it?”

“It’s weird isn’t it? Why would someone attack an empty vault? And why would they put so many protection charms on nothing?” Ron persisted, but was answered with a half-hearted shrug.

“I dunno. Maybe Seamus was in there,” he suggested, “I think I’m starting to understand why he has a mushroom cloud for a soulmark.”

Ron snorted. “Four explosions in one day. Remind me not to let him near the firecrackers.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Ron grabbed his elbow and pulled him into a corner. He looked up indignantly, but Ron shushed him and pointed to the end of the corridor, where Filch was prowling. At least it wasn’t Mrs Norris, Harry thought, she would have been able to see them hiding in the shadows. They hid there for what felt like an hour, Harry pressed up against a wall, Ron concealed by a suit of armour. After a minute or so, Filch moved away, and they allowed themselves to breathe. 

Harry was the first to move. He pushed himself up to stand, hitting his head against the table as he did so. There was a crash.

An ink pot had fallen off the table and had landed on him, soaking his robes in ink. He looked at despair at Ron, who signaled for him to stay quiet. He made a face, but shut up, trying to put the ink back on the table as quietly as possible. After another minute had passed, they both bolted for the dorms. Ron cast scourgify on Harry’s robes, and they slipped into their beds, shaking with silent laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the recipe for the boils cure is wrong, but I'd already written the scene before I went to check. I now have Pottermore (Miss me with that Wizarding World shit) open at all times so I can check that I'm accurate.
> 
> How's self-isolation treating everyone? I dyed my hair blue today, it looks terrible.


	3. The Ink Stain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry and Draco have their first flying lesson, and Draco realises that his soulmate is a klutz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was fun to write. It started out being shorter than I'd hoped, but when I added in the bit about Harry being seeker, it got longer. Also I had to re-write half of the second chapter because I realised that this chapter read like it was in the first week of term, still.
> 
> Most of this is in Draco's POV, at least until the story moves away from the original plot line.

Draco stared at the mirror, shirtless, trying to figure out what the hell happened last night. There was a knock at the door.

“Are you going to spend an hour in there every day? The rest of us need to go use the bathroom as well,” came Theo’s voice.

“Don’t try to rush him,” came Blaise’s voice, “He’ll just take longer. You should’ve gotten up early like the rest of us.”

“I’m not getting up at midnight so I can piss in the morning!” said Theo irritably. Draco sighed and pulled on his robes, covering up the inky black splashes that had appeared on his body overnight.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I’m coming,” he said. He threw open the door and floated down the stairs, ignoring Theo rushing past him to go to the toilet. Blaise followed him. 

“We have our first flying lesson today!” said Blaise, “It’s going to be with the Gryffindors, after Charms with Ravenclaw.”

“Hmm,” Draco said, distracted by what he had noticed that morning. There hadn’t been ink on his bedsheets, so where did it come from? He felt that he knew the answer, but he’d been so caught up in trying to scrub it off that he couldn’t remember. It hadn’t budged once inch. Could it have been…?

He thought back to when his father had told him about soulmarks. Pureblood families learned this as a rite of passage – there were many things which came with a soulmark. Once you met your soulmate and made skin contact with them, a whole other side to magic became accessible. Most magical objects worked more easily; some even unlocked a new use. They became even more potent after one kissed their soulmate, which was why famous wizards nearly always came in pairs He hadn’t seen a soulmark when he’d looked in the mirror, but it was the only explanation as to why he was covered in ink. Of course his soulmate would be clumsy enough to get covered in the stuff – how does one get ink on their shoulder for Merlin’s sake? He just hoped that they’d wash it off by the time he had to get changed into his flying robes.

Unfortunately, they didn’t, and he had to get changed while being bombarded by questions about what had happened. He shrugged the questions off, until Blaise cornered him on their way to the training grounds.

“You’ve met your soulmate.”

“Are you sure? I was thinking the same thing. How do you know it wasn’t just normal ink though? Did you see the mark?”

“No, but that ink didn’t come off on your clothes at all. It looked like it had been tattooed on. The ink probably covered up the tattoo.”

“It could be something else though, right?”

“I suppose. Why are you so determined to prove me wrong, though?”

“Blaise,” Draco started slowly, “if this is the result of a soulmate, then my soulmate has somehow managed to spill ink all over himself. No Slytherin would do that unless they were attacked by Peeves. I heard nothing about Peeves getting into the ink at breakfast today, and anyway, it happened overnight. I can only hope that he’s a Ravenclaw who fell asleep on his inkpot while studying, rather than the—” he shuddered-– “alternative. At least Ravenclaws are sensible.”

“If you can’t wait for him to wash the ink off, you could always test it,” Blaise suggested. “Did you see that Neville got that Remembrall at breakfast? You can see if that works.”

“Do you really think he’d just leave it lying around?”

“He didn’t have time to put it in his dorm. Besides, this is Neville we’re talking about. He’s probably still got it in his pocket. Just steal it from him or something, and if he notices, turn it into a show, you’re good at that.”

“I’ll pretend that was a compliment,” Draco smirked, “Let’s go, then.”

They headed up to the training grounds, coming up at the tail end of the rest of the Slytherins. Draco high-fived Blaise and went to stand between Greg and Vince, watching as the Gryffindors arrived with the instructor leading them. She gestured to the brooms on the ground, and everyone stepped up next to them. She gave a disappointed look at the division between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

“My name is Madame Hooch. I will be teaching your flying lessons, and for those who join the Quidditch teams next year, I oversee the matches. Today, we’re going to be starting simple. Everyone, step up to your broom, hold your hand over it, and say ‘up’.” There was a moment of silence, then “What are you waiting for?”

Draco stepped up to his broom confidently. ‘Up’ was rarely used when actually flying, but when using a new broom, it was an important step to take in order to make sure the broom was attuned to you. Usually, it took a couple of goes to get the broom to respond, but Draco had had practise, and the broom flew into his hand almost before the work was out of his mouth. He felt smug only for a second, before he noticed that Potter had managed to get the broom to respond just as readily. Of course the golden boy-who-lived got it on his first go. At least the muggle-born Granger girl seemed to be having difficulty, but it was likely to do with the fact that she was trying to command it rather than persuade it. The Gryffindor boy, Longbottom, was struggling too. He looked as though he would rather keep his feet firmly on the ground. Draco glanced at his pockets and, sure enough, the Remembrall was still there. What an idiot.

Finally, Longbottom managed to get his broom to respond. Draco couldn’t help but feel as though it would be unsafe to let him get on a broom that he clearly wasn’t in synch with, and sure enough, the broom started to pull away from him. Nobody except Longbottom and himself seemed to notice, though, and Draco had a reputation to keep up, so he stayed silent until the broom went shooting off, Longbottom trailing from the end and screaming.

“Everyone, get back!” Madame Hooch said, running forward with her wand outstretched. Not a moment too soon, either, as Longbottom fell from the air. She managed to slow his descent, but he still landed with a pretty heavy thump on the ground. Something shiny rolled out of his pocket, unnoticed by everyone else, who were too busy crowding around Longbottom, and stopped at Draco’s feet. He nudged Blaise and picked the Remembrall up.

“Let’s see if this works, then,” he muttered, rubbing it gently. It stayed white and he cursed.

“At least it means you haven’t forgotten anything,” said Blaise, earning an irritated glare. Draco tossed the Remembrall up and down. 

“How am I supposed to return it? I can’t just walk into the hospital wing and hand it to him, I’d probably get cursed by some Gryffindor who thinks they’re protecting him.”

“Put on a show,” said Blaise, nodding towards Potter, who was marching in their direction in a way that would have looked much more intimidating and powerful had he not been a scrawny eleven-year-old who looked much closer to eight.

“Oh, alright.” He sighed and put on his nastiest face. “What an idiot, who leaves a magical object in their pockets while in flight?”

“Leave him alone,” said one of the Patil twins, Parvati. Pansy caught Draco’s eye and rolled her eyes before folding her arms and snarling at Patil.

“Didn’t know you liked fat little cry-babies,” she spat out, going to stand next to Malfoy and Blaise. Greg and Vince leered menacingly over his shoulders. Before long, all the Slytherins were behind him. It was a good thing that Slytherins were so coordinated, else they’d never have been able to pull this off. One could always count on Slytherins to have each other’s back, just as one could count on Hufflepuffs to have food to spare, Ravenclaws to know something about everything, and – hopefully – Gryffindors to be heroically impulsive.

“Give it back, Malfoy.” Potter had made his way to the front of the group, because he apparently had no survival instincts. But Malfoy couldn’t just hand it over, that would mean bowing to a Gryffindor.

“Oh, I don’t think I will,” he said, swinging his leg over his broom. He could tell that Pansy had raised an eyebrow without even looking at her, but he ignored it. “I think I’ll leave it somewhere for him to find. How about… up a tree?” It was good flying weather, now that he thought of it, and when he kicked off from the ground, the broom went easier than his own did at the windy Malfoy Manor. Years of practise meant that he hovered effortlessly in the air before doing a dive and looping around, barely having to indicate where he wanted to go at all. This was brilliant, but he couldn’t keep showing off. He only hoped that Potter was as predictable as the rest of the Gryffindors. Once he got on the broom and fell off, as everyone did the first time, Draco would drop the Remembrall on his head, make up some smartass comment about forgetfulness, and kill three birds with one stone – humiliating Potter in return for the start of the year, showing off on a broom, and giving back the Remembrall, which he really had no use for. At least, that was what he had expected.

What he did not expect was for Potter to sail easily into the air and reach his level within seconds, especially on the useless school brooms. He was nowhere near as good as Draco, of course, but still a natural. He had no idea how to balance though – and they were already around 20 meters in the air. A fall would kill him, and to Draco’s horror, there was a bandage around his wrist. The idiot was injured already, he’d have a weakened grip, he could fall at a moment’s notice. Clearly, Potter had noticed and mistaken his concern.

“There’s no Crabbe and Goyle up here to save you now, Malfoy,” he yelled. Draco glanced at the ground, trying to figure out a way to get Potter safely on the ground. It was the Remembrall he wanted, right? If that was on the ground, then surely, he’d go down to get it. Maybe he’d fall off on the way, but Draco didn’t care that much about his health, he just didn’t want him to die.

“If you want it, go and get it,” he shouted back, throwing it in a curve through the air. He turned towards the group and dove down, but not before seeing Potter dive to catch the Remembrall. He jumped off the broom once he was back with the Slytherins and watched him fall.

“He’s going to die,” whispered a horrified Slytherin girl he couldn’t see. But the scream they’d all been expecting never came.

Instead, there was a loud cheer from the Gryffindors and shocked muttering among the Slytherins as Potter came running over, waving the Remembrall in the hand with the bandaged wrist. “Can’t have been that badly hurt, then,” Draco muttered to Crabbe, trying to hide the relief that he hadn’t caused a dead body that day. 

By the time Professor McGonagall came rushing out of the castle to scoop Potter up to punish him for whatever rule he’d probably broken that day, Draco was ranting to Blaise about how Potter had managed to insult him twice within a weak of barely speaking to each other.

“He snubs me at the start of the year, he shows me up today, what’s next?”

~

“Seeker?” said Ron, astonished. “I knew that meeting your soulmate improved your affinity with magical objects, but you must have a real natural talent to make the team with no training whatsoever. And you’ve got a nimbus 2000,” he added enviously.

“Nearly-Headless Nick said that I’m the youngest seeker in a century the other day,” said Harry, “but I barely even know the game. Like, what are the rules?”

Ron looked ready to launch into a detailed description of the game, but he stopped himself. “Wood’ll be able to explain it better than me.” He handed back the parcel, which he’d been holding like a delicate baby. “We need to get you on this, though. We’ve still got an hour before lessons.”

Harry nodded and got up, throwing back his pumpkin juice. “You can have a go on it, if you like.”

“Seriously?” Ron grinned. “Awesome! Let’s go.”

They’d barely made two steps out of the Hall before they were stopped by Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle flanking. He folded his arms and sneered at them.

“Still in school, Potter? You won’t be for long, not with that,” he said, indicating the package. “That’s a broom, isn’t it? First years aren’t allowed.”

“Actually, McGonagall gave it to me,” Harry replied coolly, “and I’d thank you to keep out of my business.” 

Malfoy opened his mouth to retort, but he was soon intercepted by Quirrell. “G-good morning, bo-boys,” he stuttered, “I d-do hope you’re not c-causing an argument in the corridors.” 

“Not at all, Professor. We were merely discussing Potter’s new present – a broomstick, it appears.”

“Hmm, yes.” Quirrell looked down his nose at Malfoy. “y-yes, Minerva has told us about the spe-special circumst-tances.” He held out his hand. “M-may I?”

Harry nodded, handing it over. He didn’t miss the insult painted on Malfoy’s face at being brushed off by a teacher and had to avoid looking at Ron to suppress a grin. Professor Quirrell inspected the parcel closely.

“That’s a g-good quality b-broom you’ve got there, M-Mister P-Potter.” He handed it back carefully, flinching as Harry took it.

“Thank you, Professor.” Harry and Ron waited until Quirrell had gone into the Great Hall and grinned at the stupefied look on Malfoy’s face as they rushed past him, heading to the grounds. 

~

Draco watched Potter’s and Weasley’s retreating backs until he was alone in the corridor.

“What the hell,” he muttered, turning back into the Great Hall. He sat down next to Greg and Vince, across from Blaise and Pansy. “Did you hear that Potter’s the new Gryffindor seeker? First years aren’t allowed, don’t tell me Dumbledore is as favouritist as they say.” 

“No way, he’ll fall off his broom.” Pansy said, unbothered. Draco shook his head.

“You didn’t see his flying up close. That dive was further than it looked from the ground, and he made it. Plus, he didn’t even wobble. I was expecting him to fall off right away, nearly everyone does.” He paused. “Maybe he found his soulmate already. That might explain it, but he’d have to have a lot of natural talent too. I wonder if his parents flew. Seriously, he looked so confident, like he’d been flying for years. It’s obvious why they’re letting him on the team, but it’s hardly fair. Gryffindor just can’t wait another year for a new seeker after all the years they lost.” 

“If you’re done gushing about Potter’s flying, we’ve got Defence Against the Dark Arts next.” Blaise stood up, ignoring Draco’s spluttering.

“Not Defence, Quirrell hates me,” he whined. “I did nothing to him!”

“Imagine being hated for no reason,” Millicent folded her arms, appearing out of nowhere. Draco flinched. As a muggle raised Slytherin, most of the school had an unfair grudge against her. Slytherins never fought in public, as a rule, but some nasty things could be said behind closed doors as a side effect. And most of the school was at least suspicious of Slytherins, especially Gryffindor.

“Sorry. But it’s a bit weird, still, isn’t it? Like, he hated me from the moment he saw me. What’s up with that?” Quirrell had been taking the register in there first DADA lesson a week ago, and when he’d gotten to Draco, he’d paused to glare at him. It was the only name he didn’t have to stammer out, as well. 

“Maybe he’s met you before and you were such a colossal dipshit that he can’t bare to look at you,” said Pansy.

“No, I’d remember,” Draco sighed, resigned. “We’d better get to class; I don’t want to give him any reason to land me in detention.” He left the Hall with the others, Greg and Vince following but having their own conversation. A windswept Potter and Weasley rushed past to lesson and he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes lest he strain them. Potter had managed to insult him more times than he could count, now. He’d have to do something about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to say something about Quirrell hating Draco because I don't think I made that clear enough in previous chapters? Anyway, if you've read the books you'll know some of what happens next chapter, but there's going to be some soulmatey stuff too, so look forward to that. Actually, there's quite a lot of soulmatey stuff. I hope you don't need much plot, because until Harry and Draco actually start talking, there's going to be very little plot.
> 
> How's lockdown treating everyone?


	4. The Soullink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco comes to terms with the fact that he has, in fact, met his soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty much establishing some things about soulmarks. Just to be clear:
> 
> Soulmark - The mark one has on their ankle  
> Soullink - The mark one has elsewhere on their body, identical to their soulmate's mark. Also, the magical link between them.  
> Soulmate - The actual person  
> Soulspells - The magic you can do when you meet your soulmate
> 
> This is extremely self-indulgent but I really like both the ink and mark soulmate AUs so I combined them together, and I added the magic improvement because I felt like there had to be some purpose for the soulmates.

The first year Slytherins and Ravenclaws queued up outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Draco and Blaise were engaged in a heated discussion about Draco’s supposed soulmate, which Pansy was ignoring in favour of listening to Millicent explain television to the best of her abilities. Quirrell opened the door and the first years filed in, finding the seats they had occupied in the previous lessons empty.

Draco sat in his seat at the back, ignoring the lesson entirely. “I told you, the ink came off in the shower. It must have been a spell that backfired or something.”

“That might just be wishful thinking.” Blaise raised an eyebrow. “Have you even looked for a link yet?”

Draco looked away, back at Quirrell. 

“I’ll take that as a no, then”

“Shut up, it’s not my fault that you make me shower in the evening. When it’s dark. And I can’t distinguish my first conditioner from my third shampoo.”

“It so is your fault! Maybe you shouldn’t have spent all that time in the shower in the mornings,” he hissed. “Is it possible that your soulmate had a shower at the same time as you and you assumed that it came off because of your shower?”

“No, it’s not, because I haven’t met my soulmate yet,” Draco whispered back stubbornly. Blaise rolled his eyes but didn’t push further immediately, due to Professor Quirrell looking in his direction. Draco sat up slightly straighter and Professor Quirrell moved back to the blackboard, though Draco couldn’t help but feel suspicious that he was somehow watching him through the turban. He said as much to Blaise, who rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Quirrell couldn’t hurt a fly. He’s seen us talking twice now and hasn’t even said anything. He’s a wet blanket, a pushover. Besides, how’s he supposed to see out the back of his head through cloth? Relax.”

“The most popular rumour is that he fills it with garlic,” said Pansy, leaning forward from the table behind them. “It checks out. He reeks of the stuff, and the reason he stammers so much is because of an encounter with vampires.”

“Why put it in a turban, though? Why not just put it in his pockets?” Blaise said.

“Garlic’s good for hair, and combined with certain potions, it’s potency can be increased exponentially,” Draco mused, “My theory is that he’s bald and afraid of vampires, both.”

“Maybe his soulmate’s mark’s just really hideous,” offered Blaise, earning a snort of laughter from both Pansy and Draco. Professor Quirrell looked in their direction, but didn’t say anything, going on to explain the different species of troll. There was a second of silence before Blaise turned on Draco again. “Is that why you won’t admit it? Because you’ve already seen your soulmate’s mark and it’s grotesque?”

“It’s okay, Draco, we won’t tell anyone if that’s the case,” said Pansy with faux sympathy, a grin spreading across her face. Draco instantly knew damn well that the whole school would hear of it if he didn’t prove to him that he really hadn’t met his soulmate yet. Unfortunately, he’d been avoiding looking since Blaise put the idea in his head. He knew it wasn’t on his arms or legs, and he’d seen the front of his torso the day he’d woken up covered in black ink, which only left his back. He bit his lip, trying to think of an excuse as to why he hadn’t checked yet, and came up empty-handed. Instead, he tried to dodge the question.

“I haven’t seen any more ink since that day,” he reasoned. “only what I’ve got on my fingers from writing. Even if I had a soulmate, you can’t find them just from that. I haven’t met them yet.”

“Lots of people don’t write on their hands all the time,” Pansy said, showing off her and Blaise’s perfectly clean hands. They hadn’t yet met their soulmates, and never got their hands dirty. “Maybe you should make the first move.”

“Not until I know for sure whether I’ve linked with them or not,” he said.

“Okay, then check. Or we’ll do it for you.” Pansy’s eyes glittered, and Draco shuddered, knowing she meant it.

“Fine, fine. I’ll check after this lesson, if it’s that important to you.” Draco scratched his ankle, where his mark shone behind his long robes, an open white rose. “If it exists at all, it’s on my back, so I’m not sure how I’m supposed to see.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I’ll look,” said Pansy. Draco turned to her, aghast. She rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen you shirtless before. Blaise can come too, if you really want.”

“I’m good, thanks,” said Draco quickly. Blaise stuck his tongue out. “It’s not like you even need to be there. Pansy can draw. You, no offense, can’t.” Pansy had learned to draw at a young age. Intent on knowing everything that was happening at all times, she had carried around a sketchbook at family gatherings, and quickly became skilled at drawing aunts, uncles and cousins in compromising positions with their suitors, along with soulmarks on people’s arms that they’d tried to cover up. Her parents hadn’t cared much until she started showing her sketchbook to guests when she got bored, and then they banned her from bringing it to gatherings. She had taken the opportunity to improve her photographic memory and went around socialising with guests to learn all the gossip. She never told anyone what she knew, but said that knowing was enough. It really wasn’t such a surprise that her soulmark had been an open notebook.

Blaise had spent the same gatherings sampling everything on the menu.

“Aww, I’ll show you my drawing when we’re done.” Pansy smiled and turned back to her seat to sketch the soulmark on the neck of a Ravenclaw student three rows down.

“There won’t be anything to show,” Draco muttered. Blaise flicked a piece of paper at him, which Draco caught and disposed of with a quiet incendio.

~*

Harry was in the library when Ron found him later that day.

“This is a weird visual,” he said. “I didn’t think you were much the reading type.”

Harry gave him a look. “You’ve known me, what, two weeks? Anyway, there is a point to all of this.” He gestured at the pile of books at his feet. Over the top of his book, he saw Ron pick a few over them up and look over them appraisingly.  
“’A brief history of soulmarks’? ‘An in-depth look at the magic of soulmates’? ‘How linking encourages magic’? Harry, you’re turning into Hermione.” Ron shuddered. They hadn’t spoken to Hermione anywhere near as much as the rest of their house, on account of the fact that she was always reading. Ron had tried to interrupt her reading once, and she had been so startled that she’d hit him in the face with her book. She had apologised profusely afterwards, but Ron had still had to go to Pomfrey. Harry glanced around to make sure nobody was within earshot before saying;

“Hermione would be really useful right now. I’m trying to figure out how best to hide my mark. I can’t wear bandages forever. People will get suspicious. I’m not great at transfiguration, and makeup would be a pain to put on everyday. I’m looking for a simple spell to hide it, is all.”

“Which is why you’re looking through ‘A complex guide to soulspells’. What the hell is a soulspell?”

“Not what I was hoping for,” said Harry, resigned. “Apparently, your magic gets stronger once you’ve met your soulmate, then stronger again when you kiss for the first time. True love’s kiss, basically. I guess the muggles got that from somewhere. Anyway, it can improve the use of magical objects and you ‘unlock’ new spells that you can perform with your soulmate. Some of them are interesting, some of them just seem to be stronger versions of the spells that even we know. I was hoping there would be a section on hiding them, but I guess I’ll have to stick with the bandage for now.”

“You do that, mate. Budge up.” Ron sat down next to Harry. “The Prophet still hasn’t released any information on what was in that vault.” He’d shown Harry the article in question, and Harry had recognised the vault in the picture as being the one they had visited in Gringotts.

“I told you, Hagrid said it was top secret. He and Dumbledore are the only ones who know about it.”

“Maybe it’s here? You know, Dumbledore mentioned the third-floor corridor in his start of year speech, I’ll bet it’s got something to do with that.”

“Trust you to pay attention to the rules so you can break them,” Ron grumbled. “Maybe Hagrid knows something.”

Harry nodded and got up. “I think I’m going to take this book out, it seems interesting. And I’ll ask Hermione how to hide the mark, it’s not against the rules or anything so she’ll be fine with it, right?”

“Sure, if you can catch her in a good mood,” said Ron. Harry rolled his eyes pointedly and took the book out to the counter. He knew why Ron was so weird about Hermione, it was because she was such a stickler for the rules, while he just didn’t seem to care.

~ 

Draco had managed to hide from Pansy and Blaise for a full day after the conversation in DADA. After the lesson, he had been the first out of the classroom and cut across the courtyard to get to Charms, where he was the first to arrive. They couldn’t accost him in class. At meals, he sat at the end of the table closest too the door, and at night, he slipped into the bedroom long after he knew Blaise would be asleep. He had woken up extra early to get ready for the day and escaping from the common room the moment he heard movement from either dormitory. As a result, however, he was exhausted. 

It was during breakfast that he decided to catch up on the missed sleep. It was a weekend, after all, it wasn’t like he was skipping lessons, and he really was so tired. He ate quickly and slunk out of the hall. After wandering for five minutes, he realised that he didn’t really have a plan. He couldn’t go into the dormitories, lest Blaise find him, and he refused to sleep on the floor somewhere he could be seen. What was more, he had only lived in the castle for half a term. There were a lot of places he didn’t know, on account of all the first-year classrooms being easy access. This was one of them. He closed his eyes, pacing. Waking up so early really hadn’t been good for him, and he could hardly think through the exhaustion of hiding all day. Why was he so scared anyway? Surely if he was so confident that he didn’t have the link yet, he’d not need to hide. He brushed the thought away and continued to pace, hoping that nobody would see him looking so stressed.

I just need a safe place to sleep, he thought desperately, somewhere my enemies can’t find me.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a door that he hadn’t noticed before, because it hadn’t been there before. Gingerly, he opened it, afraid that anything in there would bite his head off. He’d seen the monstrosities in the NEWT level greenhouse.

Nothing like that was in there, though. From what he could see, the carpet was a plush white. Green wallpaper covered the walls, and when he opened the door further, there was a four-poster bed with a thick duvet. It was uncannily like his room at home, and his first instinct should have been distrust. That was overridden, however, by exhaustion, and a sense of homesickness he hadn’t been aware of. Before he even realised that he was moving, he was climbing under the covers and falling into the arms of sleep.

*

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” was the first thing Draco heard upon waking up. Still have asleep and with closed eyes, he pushed himself up.

“Damn right I’m a beauty,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. There was a moment’s pause before his brain started turning again, before he recognised the voice, before he yelped and jumped out of bed. Part of him realised that he was still fully dressed, and therefore must look a mess, but most of his attention was taken up by Pansy, who sat on a stool next to his bed, sketchbook and array of pencils. His mind reached for something to say, for example, “what the fuck are you doing here,” or, “that better be a flattering drawing of me,” but instead he composed himself and asked a far more important question,

“I don’t recognise that sketchbook, where did you get it?” Draco had seen Pansy’s extensive collection. She ordered them by blackmail potential, and had a whole set for soulmarks. He saw the Slytherin soulmark book resting at her feet and took an innocuous step towards the door.

“I walked in, saw you asleep, and thought ‘I simply must record this’, and this sketchbook and stool appeared in front of me. I don’t know how, I’ve not heard of a room like this in the castle before, but that bed must be comfortable. I was only a minute behind you, and you were already out cold by the time I got here.”

“You stalked me?”

“Well, yeah. Obviously. You have quite the penchant for getting lost.”

“I was tired,” he said guardedly. Pansy had a steady smirk on her face, like a predator waiting for its prey to try and run. He sighed. “Let’s just cut to the chase. You still want to see if I have a soulmark, don’t you?”

She nodded and stood up, magically transferring the drawing in the new sketchbook to her own to keep it organised. “Of course I do, that’s why I followed you here. You can look by yourself if you like, but forgive me for not believing you if you claim to have no link. And I’m sure that you want a drawing of it.”

“I know you have sketchbooks with almost everyone’s soulmarks in. You just want to find out who mine is.”

“Obviously, that’s how this benefits me. I already told you how it benefits you, and I’m positive you can think of some other reasons.”

Draco eyed her warily. He could make a break for it, and Pansy would be unlikely to follow him. But Blaise would never leave him alone. It was better to get it over and done with. The most annoying, the most infuriating thing was that Pansy knew he knew this. She’d known him since before they got their marks, and she knew him better than his parents. This was not always a good thing.

“Fine,” he said, resigned, and saw Pansy’s knowing smile spread almost to her ears. “Turn around, I don’t want you watching me.” It was a testament to how much she wanted this gossip that she didn’t make any remarks, and simply turned her back.

Once Draco had taken off his shirt and folded it up on top of his cloak, he turned back round to face Pansy. “You can open your eyes, now.”

“You left your trousers on! What if it’s on your legs?

“It’s not,” he said, bored. “I checked. If it’s anywhere, it’s on my back.”

“Turn around, then.”

Draco obliged. Pansy sucked in a breath. “What? What is it? Oh Merlin, I have one, don’t I? Is it hideous?”

“It’s rather… extreme. It may take a while to draw.”

“You better not be messing with me,” he grumbled. Pansy tutted, but said nothing more as her pencil moved over the paper. “What does it look like?”

“You’ll see,” she said. “I don’t recognise it. There are only a few whose mark I haven’t seen yet, so it’s obviously one of them.” There was a minute of silence, then:

“Done.” Draco turned around to see Pansy holding up a drawing. Draco raised an eyebrow.

“I can’t believe I’m going to have that tattooed onto my back for the rest of eternity.” He wrinkled up his nose. “At least there are snakes. It must be a Slytherin.”

“You’re rather quick to come to terms with it,” Pansy said, amused. Draco gave a half-hearted shrug. It wasn’t entirely unexpected.

“Why are some parts not coloured in?”

Pansy smirked. “Because it’s so pale that I couldn’t tell what colour they are. Sorry, your soulmate hates you. It’s okay though, the mark’s there so you’re obviously compatible. But yeah, he hates you right now.”

Draco felt a pit in the bottom of his stomach, and he realised there was a quill in his hand. “Well, that’s about to change.”

~

As Draco sat on the bed, quill hovering over his arm as he decided what to write, Pansy looked through her sketchbooks. She had brought not only her Slytherin soulmark book, but all the other houses as well, just in case. None of them matched Draco’s soullink. Only a few pages across the books were empty… no, only one. She flipped through the Gryffindor one until she reached the only remaining page. The names of everyone in the school were in alphabetical order, and the page she had turned to was right near the end.

Harry Potter.

Oh, this would be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a plot twist.
> 
> Yes, Pansy now knows. She's not told Draco, of course, she's just going to watch everything unfold. Does she tell Blaise? That's up to your imagination.
> 
> Slightly longer chapter than usual, only by a couple hundred words. I usually average around 2600, I think. I'll be going on hiatus for a couple of weeks or so since I've caught coronavirus and will not be able to write, plus I've burned through most of my buffer. I don't have it too bad, though, so it won't be long before I start posting again.
> 
> Stay healthy!


	5. The Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry converses with his soulmate for the first time and Draco challenges him to a duel

A week had passed since Draco had found out that he’d got a soullink. He wondered how long it had been there. It could have been since the start of the year and he wouldn’t know. Pansy wouldn’t tell him, even though he knew she knew. And he’d still not written.

He’d begun to be able to distinguish between the ink he’d gotten on his hands from writing and the ink his soulmate had gotten. His soulmate was fare more prone to getting covered in ink, and on Wednesday, a splash of ink across his hands revealed that his soulmate had managed to spill his ink pot. Draco had groaned; he could no longer hold out hope that the previous incident had been a fluke.

More than that, he’d begun to notice when his spells used his own power and when they were enhanced by the soullink. The simpler spells were performed with ease, and his hair potions seemed to last longer.

He had still not written.

He lay in bed, tapping a quill against his leg while he debated how to open up a conversation. It was a week until the Christmas holidays, and there was a chance that his soulmate would want clean skin when going home to family. When he’d pointed the out to Pansy, she’d given him a strange look and said, “I don’t think that will matter,” but it was still a concern.

He raised a hand to his face and sighed. There was no point in procrastinating anymore, anything would really do. The quill felt scratchy against his arm as he wrote out,

“Hello. It appears we’re soulmates.”

~

Harry was completing his Potions essay – really, Snape set so much homework – when he noticed Ron’s quill had stopped moving. He looked up.

“What’s wrong? Did you run out of ink already?”

Ron shook his head and gestured to Harry’s arm with the end of his quill. “Looks like he’s okay with writing.”  
Harry squinted at the writing. It wasn’t messy per se, but it was slanted and small, and looked rather old-fashioned. The tone was extremely formal, as well. He scrunched up his nose.

“Why’s she being so polite?”

“Dunno. Maybe they’re a pureblood, they’re weirdly polite to everyone they meet, even if they’re the evil variety that’s probably plotting your demise.” Ron moved closer to look. “Either a posh tosser, or they’re really awkward. Possibly both. Are you going to respond?”

“With what? ‘Yeah. Looks like it. Sorry I didn’t respond, I’m just so incredibly famous and above such things as conversing with my soulmate.’ Who sounds more like a posh tosser now?”

“Just say ‘Hi, it appears you’re right,’ or something.”

Harry gave him a look, dipping his quill back into the ink pot. “Sure. Won’t this quill tip be scratchy?”

“Find out for me.”

Ignoring Ron’s protests at the ball of paper he had thrown at him, Harry scribbled his response under the first message. The pens he had used at his primary school came to mind, and he missed them sorely.

“I just said ‘Yeah, seems so. What now?’”

“I’m sure they’re blown away by your creativity,” said Ron dryly. “They’ve never had a soulmate before, either, you know.”

“And you said that there’s a good chance that they grew up actually knowing this soulmate stuff.” Harry pointed out. Sure enough, as he said this, he saw new words being traced across his skin. “People tend to meet up,” he read aloud.

“Say no,” said Ron instantly. Harry nodded; they’d decided to keep it a secret, in case his fame caused trouble.

‘I can’t either,’ came the reply. ‘I just thought I’d say hello.’

Harry grinned. ‘Okay. Hi.’ He drew a smiley face after. A pause, then: ‘How was your day?’

‘Tiring,’ came the response. ‘Lots of homework.’

‘Same here.’ He put the quill back into the ink pot. “I’m running out of space on my arm,” he told Ron, who’d been watching the silent exchange with a mix of anticipation and hope.

“Wash off the ink, then. They’re probably doing the same”

*  
By the end of the day, Harry had moved to the bathroom so that he could wash off the ink easier. Ron had gone to bed, but Harry was engrossed in the conversation. His soulmate knew far more than him, and sometimes had the air of being rather supercilious, but it was nice to talk to someone other than Ron who didn’t treat him like some golden boy at all. She showed an interest in muggle culture, which her father didn’t like, and asked Harry questioned that he didn’t quite feel equipped to answer, but did so to the best of his ability. He knew how computers worked, having fixed a fair few of Dudley’s over the years, and she seemed less interested in the actual technology and more how muggles lived day-to-day. Eventually, they had to go to bed, but the conversation had left Harry excited to meet his soulmate in person so they could talk without the problem of constantly washing his arms. They’d started to sting.

When he walked into the dorm, ink still covered his skin down to his wrists, which he’d kept clean. Fortunately, his sleeves were long, and in the dark, the ink was unnoticeable unless you knew to look. Despite the late, or rather early, hour, a couple of the Gryffindor boys were still up. Seamus and Dean nodded at him as he entered but quickly went back to exploding snap. The gloves that Seamus was wearing were protecting him against the small explosions, and Harry expected that they were from Pomfrey from the last time he’d exploded something. Harry nodded at their backs, before climbing into bed. Sleep didn’t come easily, as he lay awake wondering who his soulmate could be. It wasn’t for another hour or so that he finally drifted off into the oblivion of sleep.

~

Draco was sat in the bathroom washing his arms off when he spotted the mirror across the room. It occurred to him that his soulmate had likely gone to bed so the rest of the ink wouldn’t be coming off until morning anyway so he might as well wait until tomorrow himself. He put down the sponge and went to the mirror, taking off his shirt. The mirror examined his reflection critically, but shut up when Draco glared at it. If he twisted like so, and craned his neck right the way round… he could see the soullink on his back. Pansy hadn’t been lying, it was pretty pale, but not quite as much as she’s made out. Even so, the fact that it was someone who hated him didn’t narrow it down much further than the other three quarters of the school. After a minute or so of looking at the surprisingly detailed mark, he started to develop a crick in his neck and he gave in, turning back around. A wave of exhaustion crashed over him as he realized that his nap earlier that day hardly made up for a week of unnecessary wakefulness, and he headed over to bed before collapsing under the covers.

*  
It was at breakfast the next day when Draco finally gave in. Potter had been acting like a reckless idiot all day, showing off that he was the new Gryffindor seeker. It wouldn’t be quite so frustrating if he hadn’t earned it, but Draco had seen him fly, and though he’d never admit it aloud, he was good. And everyone was crowding round him, praising him.

“Bet he’s enjoying all the attention,” he muttered to Blaise.

“Jealous?” Pansy said, grinning. He shot her a look. 

“Why would I want all those people crowding around me? Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s rude to listen in on conversations?”

“Just the opposite, actually. But that’s not the point,” she said. He wasn’t sure, but she seemed disappointed. He shrugged it off.

“You should fight him,” offered Blaise. 

“What, like a muggle?” said Draco, horrified. “Absolutely not! I have my family reputation to uphold!”

“Not fist-fighting, a duel. That’s reputable, right?” Blaise glanced at Pansy, who nodded. “You’re better at charms than him, and you know the rules better than him or the weasel.”

To his surprise, he found himself nodding. He’d always been interested in charms, even more so than potions. The latter was something he was good at out of necessity, out of having a potions master for a godfather. But charms were softer than potions. Secretly, he’d always enjoyed being able to make things float at his will and change the colour of things according to atmosphere. His mother had been overjoyed when he wrote home about it, saying that it would be useful for holding parties. 

Charms were harmless generally, but being able to levitate Potter or silence him would give Draco a quick win, and hopefully put him back in his place. And like Blaise said, he could probably get him disqualified on a rule or technicality, making him look like a cheat. Either way, it was a sure win, especially with the help of his soullink.

“Alright.” Draco pushed himself up. Greg and Vincent, who had finished eating already, were quick to follow.

~

Harry waved Fred and George off, feeling slightly less pressured about his Quidditch skill than he had done previously. The relief was knocked back in his face, however, when he heard a smug cough from behind him. He didn’t even have to look round to know who it was.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

“Still here, Potter? After your track record, I’m surprised that you haven’t been expelled yet. I heard about your run-in with Filch the other day; what were you thinking, going out after dark?”

Ron opened his mouth to shoot something back, but Harry put his hand on his shoulder. He was still exhausted from the night before, and couldn’t quite handle serious confrontation so early in the morning. Not to mention that McGonagall was watching the little scene from the high table.

“No come-back? I suppose you have been expelled, then. When do you get back on the train to the muggles?”

“Fight me, Malfoy,” Harry said. Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say, because Malfoy’s smirk widened. He did notice that it didn’t quite reach his eyes, though. In fact, many aspects of him didn’t seem quite right that day. His hair was just as overly groomed as usual, but he looked slightly paler, if that was possible, and his aristocratic air was wavering, if barely noticeably. Harry pushed the thought from his mind – why waste time worrying about Malfoy, of all people?

The split second it had taken his to make all these observations was a split second too long, apparently, since Draco was saying something he’d almost missed.

“Why not? How about tonight, a wizard’s duel. Midnight, trophy room. That’s always unlocked. What’s with that expression, Potter? Never heard of a wizard’s duel, I suppose?”

“Of course he has,” snapped Ron, moving out of Harry’s grip. “I’m his second, who’s yours?”

Harry stared blankly as Draco looked Crabbe and Goyle, apparently sizing them up. After a moment’s deliberation;  
“Crabbe.” 

And that was that, apparently. Ron nodded curtly as they left, before turning to Harry.

“What’s a wizard’s duel, anyway? And what do you mean, you’re my second?”

“A second’s there to take over if you die,” said Ron. Harry blinked, and Ron quickly carried on, “it’s really just a formality though. People only really die in proper duels, adult duels over really important things. You’ve only been at Hogwarts for half a term, yet. The most you’ll be able to do is send sparks at each other, maybe turn him a different colour if you’re lucky. Hey, you should take the opportunity to charm his scarf red and gold!”

The two laughed, until they noticed Hermione standing over Harry with a disapproving look. Ron gave her a hostile look.

“Excuse me, but I couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation –” She primly ignored Ron’s muttered remark – “and you mustn’t go out at midnight again. Think of all the points you lost last time – you’ll get in even more trouble if you’re caught again. Not to mention the danger –”

“We won’t get caught, then,” Harry said simply. He turned back to Ron. “It’s really none of your business.”

Affronted, Hermione went back to her seat. Harry waited until she had her head buried in a large tome of some sort before burying his own head in his hands.

“She has a point. What if I wave my wand and nothing happens?”

“Throw it away and punch him in the face,” Ron suggested. Harry grinned and went back to his meal, pushing his inevitable death by Malfoy away from his mind.

*  
Later that evening, Harry was flicking through the book of soulspells he’d taken from the library, trying to find one he could use on Malfoy. Assuming that he didn’t yet have a soulmate, which Ron thought likely since he rarely went near anyone, let alone touch them, these extra spells would give him the upper hand. Unfortunately, most of these spells looked like they could go wrong explosively. Prick though Malfoy might be, Harry didn’t want him to actually die, at least not at his own hands. While he was debating just using normal spells and risking losing his advantage, Ron was giving him such helpful advice as,

“If he tries to curse you, dodge it. A soulmark won’t protect you and I can’t remember how to block them.”

Eventually, Harry decided that he would just wing it with what he had. He set his alarm clock for half eleven and crawled into bed at ten p.m. in a last-ditch attempt to get at least some rest. It crossed his mind that he never wrote to his soulmate that night, but brushed it off in time to fall into a restless sleep, filled with images of Malfoy’s smirking face and Harry’s dying in the Trophy Room.

Surely no time had passed at all when Ron started shaking his shoulder? He certainly didn’t feel anymore rested. 

“It’s eleven forty-five. We’d better head off,” Ron said quietly. Harry nodded grimly, sitting up and grabbing his wand. He just hoped that Ron was right about their magical inability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from hiatus! Updates will probably be regular now, though I didn't manage to write more for my buffer while I was ill. Chapter six will be ready to go next week, though!
> 
> Stay healthy!


	6. The Three-Headed Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which four Gryffindors and a Slytherin find themselves trapped in a room with a three-headed dog, and Hermione is far more observant than anyone else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to call this chapter The Midnight Duel, but since that's what this chapter is called in the books, I didn't want to get called out for unoriginality.
> 
> Enjoy!

Draco slipped out of the dormitories at around eleven-thirty, safely concealed with a disillusionment charm. Vincent followed him silently – despite appearances, he could be rather stealthy, which was why Draco had chosen him. The Trophy Room was a closer to Gryffindor than Slytherin, and Draco wanted to get there earlier than Potter and Weasley. The faster they could move, the better.

They came to a corner, and Draco threw out an arm to stop Vince. The corridor they were facing had no candles lit. Unwilling to cast Lumos and risk being seen, he poked his head around the corner and waited for his eyes to adjust. Not immediately seeing anything, he beckoned for him to follow, pressed against the wall. Now that they were in the dark, the disillusionment would work even better since they would have no shadows to give away their location.

Once he could see again, he made his way down the corridor again, following the route he had taken the time to memorize before leaving. He stifled a yawn, remembering that room that he’d slept in the previous week. Maybe he should go back there during half term.

From the other end of the corridor, footsteps and muffled voices snapped him out of his drifting thoughts. Once more, he threw his arm out, but misjudged. He hadn’t seen Vince immediately, because of the disillusionment charm, and had managed to hit him in the face. On contact, there was a loud thump, followed by Vince grunting and glaring at Draco. The footsteps stopped, giving him just enough time to grab him roughly and pull him into an abandoned classroom. Vincent picked up on what was happening quickly, and hid under a desk while Draco slipped into a broom cupboard. Neither of them could hear what was happening from outside the room from their positions, but the door hadn’t opened yet, so maybe they’d get away with it-

No such luck. Draco watched from a gap in the cupboard door as the room filled with Lumos light, and mentally congratulated Vincent on hiding in a place that wouldn’t give away his shadow. The door closed, but the light remained, and Draco recognized the hushed voices with a sense of dread.

“You will not tell anyone of our meeting tonight,” came the cold, hard voice of Professor Snape.

“N-No, I d-d-don’t know why you’re doing this, Se-Severus-,” came Professor Quirrell’s stammer. Draco didn’t bother resisting the urge to roll his eyes. At least it didn’t seem as though they were aware of their presences. He only hoped that neither of them sneezed – his nose itched at the thought.

“Oh, I think you do,” said Professor Snape. “You know I know things that the rest of the faculty may remain ignorant to. Consider this a warning, Quirinus. I don’t trust you.”

“S-Severus, I d-don’t know wh-what you’re t-t-talking about! I c-came here to teach, not anything else!”

“I may not know exactly what it is you are planning, but I will find out. I can promise you that.” There was a swishing of fabric and the click of Professor Snape’s polished shoes, before Draco heard the door open and the sound of footsteps growing further away. There was a moment of silence, and Draco was almost tempted to see if Professor Quirrell had left too, before he heard a sigh of disdain. He quickly withdrew his hand from the cupboard door.

“Interfering bastard. No matter, he is of little consequence.” Quirrell’s voice sounded cool and calculated. Draco had been right – the stutter was faked; his natural voice was perfectly stable. “The traitors will all be shown, all of them! My lord, you will rise again!” Perhaps stable was putting it a little too strongly, he was talking to himself. And “my lord”… that could only refer to the Dark Lord. The man was a loon who believed that the Dark Lord would come back, evidently, and he and Crabbe were trapped in there with him. Plus, he was going to be late for the duel. He closed his eyes and sat down in the cupboard as Quirrell monologued to himself. Listening to the one-sided conversation was extraordinarily dull, and he quickly found himself falling asleep.

Not five minutes could have passed before he jolted awake. Quirrell had left the room, as had Crabbe. Part of Draco’s mind hoped that Crabbe had gone back to the dorms of his own accord after Quirrell left – his death would leave a bad taste in his mouth – but most of him just wanted to get out of the dusty cupboard and as far away from the room as possible. Quirrell had left a distinct smell of garlic in the air.

Not knowing what time it was, Draco headed to the Trophy Room, hoping that the duel was still on. Even without a second, he could take part and completely destroy both Potter and Weasley. He was still on edge, however, and took so long skirting across shadows and into doorways that, by the time he reached the Trophy Room, it was empty.

He closed the door behind him as he headed back to the Slytherin dorms, taking the long way around the castle. It wouldn’t do to get caught this late in the night, and Snape was so prone to prowling around the area after hours. Even if he was trying to get rid of a lunatic neo death eater, Draco still didn’t want to be caught by him, especially if he was in a bad mood. He slunk up to the third floor, and peered around a corner to come face-to-face with Mrs Norris.

The caretaker’s cat stared up at him, and Draco felt a kind of cold dread in those glittering eyes. The disillusionment charm had lifted as he slept, and where Mrs Norris lead, Filch was sure to follow. Sure enough, he could hear grumbling and muttering getting louder down the hall.

He booked it in the other direction.

~

Harry pressed himself up against a wall, trying to get his breath back as quietly as possible. Mrs Norris and Filch could be anywhere now, but he, Ron and Hermione were flagging, and Neville looked ready to collapse. Harry sat next to him, keeping his eyes wide open for any signs of movement.

“This is all because you wouldn’t go back to the dorm when I said to, you know,” Hermione was the first to speak, in a sort of urgent whisper. Harry glared at her, but Ron answered before him.

“You’re one to complain! Nobody made you come, neither of us wanted you to come, and if you hadn’t kept up that running commentary of why we were the definition of evil for sneaking out to duel then we wouldn’t have been caught! Who do you think you are, bossing us around?”

“I was trying to prevent you getting in any more trouble than you have already. Think of the points-”

“Yeah, and a lot of good that did us,” Ron interrupted. Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Harry quelled the both of them with a look.

“Be quiet, you’ll get us caught again. We can argue about whether or not Hermione should have interfered later. Sit down!” He grabbed their sleeves and pulled them down next to him and Neville. “We need to get back to the dorms. You two weren’t supposed to be here anyway, and since Malfoy didn’t bother showing up, Ron and I might as well go back to sleep too.” He put his finger to his lips, prepared to bolt if he heard anything. And not a moment too soon, either – the moment he had said this, he heard someone running down the halls, with apparently no regard for silence. He found himself jumping up and grabbing whoever it was as they came around the corner.

“What do you think you’re doing?” They both said at the same time. Harry faltered, letting go. A very affronted Malfoy stepped back, adjusting his robes and smoothing down his hair.

“Malfoy?” he hissed. “Have you come to see if your little plan worked? We escaped Filch, incase you were wondering.”

“What plan? If you’re thinking that I set you up, you need to fix your deductive reasoning. Why would I be running if I had nothing to run from?”

“Then where the hell were you?”

“I don’t need to explain myself to the likes of you,” Malfoy’s lip curled. “What are Granger and Longbottom doing here? Couldn’t face me with just the two of you?”

“Uh, guys?” Hermione said quietly.

“I could take you any time, I’ll do it now,” said Harry, putting his hand on his wand. He hadn’t asked Hermione and Neville to come along—Hermione had insisted on coming with them to avoid them getting into too much trouble, and they’d picked Neville up after they’d found him outside the Common Room, unable to get in. There was no way he was saying all that to Malfoy, though. If he didn’t need to explain himself, neither did Harry.

“Now, now, Potter. That’s hardly fair, is it? Four against one, what will people say?”

“Guys?” Hermione said, a little louder. Harry ignored her.

“At least I don’t need to be followed around by my body guards all day, Malfoy. You’re a coward.”

“I believe there’s something to be said about pots and kettles? As you’ll notice, I’m not the one with bodyguards right now.”

“Harry, Malfoy! Shut up!” Hermione stood up, not facing either of them.

“What, Hermione?” Harry snapped back, then stopped. “Crap.”

Mrs Norris was staring up at the five of them, her tail brushing lazily against the floor. If anything, she looked impatient, as though she was waiting for them to notice her, and for them to realize what that meant. There was a moment of silence before they heard muttering from the other end of the corridor, and then they were running, not caring where to. Ron was the fastest, and he reached the end of the corridor first. He rattled the door handle.

“It’s locked, it’s a dead end!” He glanced back with a look of terror. “Filch is gonna get us, we’re so dead.”

Hermione impatiently moved him out of the way and pointed her wand at the door. “Alohomora!” It opened with a click, and Harry held the door open, ushering them all in. “Honestly, do none of you four pay attention in Charms?”

Harry noticed that Malfoy looked highly insulted, but still didn’t deign to speak to Hermione. He ignored him. “How long do you think it’ll take for Filch to go away?”

“I don’t think that Filch is our biggest issue now, mate…” Ron said, the fear in his voice audible. Harry followed his gaze and felt faint at what he saw.

A giant, three-headed dog loomed over a whimpering Neville. Ron was standing to the side, struck immobile with fear. Harry was reminded of Cerberus, the three-headed guardian dog of the underworld. The look on Hermione’s face told him that she was thinking the same thing.

“Good doggy, calm down,” said Neville tentatively. The dog – dogs? eyed them, growling threateningly. Neville took a step back, right into Malfoy, who pushed him aside.

“Longbottom, you clumsy oaf, what are you—” Malfoy turned around just in time to see the three-headed dog lunge forward at him. Harry instinctively grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the way.

“Run!”

The five of them pushed at the door, which burst open. With the way they were pushing each other to be the first out of the door, it was a wonder nobody got crushed, or worse, left behind. Harry and Ron somehow managed to push the door shut on the beast as all three heads barked deafeningly, barely dodging its deadly fangs. As soon as the door was locked firmly shut, they followed everyone else into an abandoned classroom across the corridor.

~

“What on Earth was that?” Malfoy was the first to speak, much to Hermione’s annoyance. She would have liked to speak first. She knew she was the smartest one there, and being constantly overshadowed felt so unfair sometimes. Nobody had even thanked her for unlocking the room, and how could she have known what was waiting for them inside? Were all Gryffindors this reckless? She found herself beginning to wish that the Sorting Hat had put her into Ravenclaw instead.

Rather than stew in her own self-pity, which she knew was illogical considering the situation, she spoke up. “A guardian of some sort, obviously.” The others looked at her, confused, and she realized that she was the only one who had seen the trapdoor it was on. “That’s really not the point right now. Filch is still out there, and he must have heard the dog barking, not to mention the screaming. He’s probably coming up this way right now, and unless we want to get ourselves caught, we should probably get moving.”

There was a few seconds of silence, before Malfoy nodded. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing with you, but you’re right. Even if Filch doesn’t know where we are, that cat of his definitely does.” As he turned towards the door, his cloak swished around his ankles, and Hermione caught sight of a white rose tattoo. Judging by how the other three hadn’t even noticed the trapdoor, she doubted that they had noticed the soulmark, but something about it told her to stow the memory away for future use, as though it wasn't the first time she'd seen it. Malfoy marched over to the door. “I’m going back to the dormitory. Please do not follow me, I don’t need Gryffindor scum like you to hang around me.” With that, he walked out, shutting the door firmly behind him. The remaining Gryffindors watched him go before sharing a look. “As if we could expect anything else from Malfoy,” Harry said. “I don’t know what time it is, but it’s probably late. Let’s head back.”

They slunk back to the Gryffindor common room, not relaxing until they’d said the password—pig snout—to the Fat Lady and had reached the plump chairs in front of the fire. Hermione was seething silently, watching Ron and Neville light a fire while Harry watched. It wasn’t until they turned to her with identical expressions of annoyance that she voiced her concerns.

“Really! That was so reckless, I told you to stop and what do you do? You go and rope me in to your stupid schemes. Honestly, you two, you’re not invincible. One of these days, you’ll get caught. Not that it’s your fault, Neville, though you really should have gone back instead of coming with us. That said, you’re a Gryffindor, it’s only to be expected.”

“Nobody asked you to come along,” Ron shot back. Hermione felt she was about to explode with rage, except… was he grinning? “You’re a Gryffindor too, you know. You could have gone back to your dorm when we refused to come back, yet you came along. What does that say about you?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Hermione felt that she knew quite well what Ron was getting at but she wasn’t about to admit it. How dare he assume that he knew about her when they’d barely even spoken until now?

“What did you mean about it being a guardian? You said something about it earlier,” Neville asked, clearly trying to avoid an argument.

“Do none of you use your eyes? The dog was standing on a trapdoor. Obviously, it was guarding something. Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t let a dangerous beast like that into the castle for no reasons, or did that not cross your minds?” She stood up, glaring at them with all the malice she had in her. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed, before we get involved in some other stupid incident that gets us all killed—or worse, expelled.” With that, she marched on up to the girls’ dormitory, leaving them all, she hoped, to reconsider their actions.

Once she had crawled under her sheets, she found herself thinking back to that soulmark she had seen on Malfoy’s ankle. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she recognised it, but the specifics escaped her. It didn’t matter, Hermione decided, taking a book from her bedside table to read by candlelight. Nobody else was thinking about her, so why should she waste energy thinking about them? Her studies were more important, there was time enough for social networking later.

Still, she couldn’t help the feeling of loneliness that she felt whenever she though about how quickly everyone else had become friends, and part of her wondered whether she’d ever have a friendship like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critique is very much appreciated! I'm writing chapter 9 right now, and I'm finding that, after the hiatus, I keep forgetting part of my story which I established earlier so please, if you see any inconsistencies let me know!


	7. The Troll Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the issue of the Slytherin dormitories is raised during the troll incident and Ron has an earth-shattering revelation. Features Yorkshire pudding and a fireplace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really happy with this chapter now that I'm looking over it but I have the Corona Excuse for that. I did enjoy writing it but I can't help feeling like it's quite OOC? Critique is definitely accepted and encouraged please. Fair warning.

Draco woke up to two realisations: first, that he had now been at Hogwarts for two months. He had been waiting to come to the castle for the best part of his life, and now that he had arrived, it felt as though he had always been there. He supposed that that was part of the magic of the castle—it always felt cozier than the halls of Malfoy Manor, despite being--he had to admit--almost twice the size.

The second realisation was that it was Halloween. Halloweens at Hogwarts, his parents had told him, were far more extravagant than anything he had been to before. Considering some of the parties his mother had held at the Manor, he doubted it, but he couldn’t help the buzz of excitement he felt. Even the letter he received from his Father at breakfast that morning, detailing how he should take a break from the festivities to “mourn the fall of the Dark Lord”, could hardly put a dampener on the fervour with which he got ready that morning. Despite most of them having received similar letters themselves, the rest of Slytherin House were in equally heightened spirits as they hurried down to the Great Hall for breakfast. The smell of pumpkins wafted through the Hall and Draco struggled to keep a mask of indifference as he strode over to the Slytherin table. Even the much older years, most of whom held some recollection of the time when the Dark Lord had been in power, were cheerfully discussing previous Halloweens at Hogwarts. In fact, a large portion seemed to be extra determined to celebrate, though Draco noticed that most of the festivities were dialed down around Potter.

“Why do you think they’re bothering keeping it down around him?” he muttered to Pansy. “The idiot probably isn’t even aware that this is the anniversary, and if he is, don’t you think that he’d need the extra cheer or something stupid like that?”

“Why do you care?” She fixed him with a shark-like grin, at which Draco rolled his eyes, leaning up against the wall they were next to.

“I don’t care, why should I? It’s got nothing to do with me. I don’t know why I even noticed, really. It’s just odd.” He sipped his pumpkin juice as he watched the students pass, silently judging their Halloween costumes. “What class do we have next?”

“Charms.”

“Excellent, we’re trying the levitation spell on our desks today.” He finished the glass and put it in his bag. “Shall we?”

~

The Halloween feast was incredible.

Harry ate with gusto, still unused to being able to eat however much he wanted. Every time he finished a plate, Ron or Seamus recommended he try something else on one of the many plates that covered the table, piling his plate with Yorkshire puddings, roast chicken and some magical food that he’d never heard of. Part of him felt guilty for enjoying the feast when he knew that Hermione had been seen crying in the girls’ toilets that day, something that was directly caused by him and Ron. However, despite his initial protests, he was full to the brim before dessert had a chance to arrive, which was rather a good thing, because it was at that moment that, through the doors to the Great Hall, burst Quirrell.

“Troll… in the dungeons…” he heard him say faintly. “Thought you ought to know.”

The hall was dead silent for a beat, until the crash of Quirrell collapsing to the floor brough everyone back to action. All hell broke loose, and in the chaos that ensued, even Dumbledore had a hard time getting the sea of students to listen to him.

“All students will follow their prefects to their common rooms immediately!”

Harry grabbed Ron’s arm. “Hermione’s not here. She doesn’t know!”

There was a moment of hesitation, but Ron quickly nodded. “Merlin, you’re right. We have to go after her. It’s my bloody fault if she dies.”

They were picked up by the swarm of Gryffindor students rampaging after Percy, who was doing everything in his power to keep control. Harry noticed that he was doing surprisingly well, which he was thankful for as it made it awfully easier to slip out of the crowd without being jostled to the side. He and Ron dropped off the end and slipped behind a wall until the noise died down. Once they were sure that there was nobody around to catch them, they headed off in search of Hermione.

~

“I’m not going to our common room, it’s in the bloody dungeons!” Draco hissed at Blaise and Pansy. They shared a look. The tension shared by the whole of Slytherin house was palpable, and it would likely only get worse at they descended the stairs.

“I hate to admit it, but you’re right. The dungeons are huge but it could be anywhere,” Pansy said. “Quirrell could at least have been more specific.”

“We should sneak off,” said Blaise. “I’d rather get detention than die. What was Dumbledore thinking?”

“I don’t think he was,” Pansy reasoned. “It can’t be easy to make a split-second decision like that.” The students passed a classroom and, as they did so, the three of them darted inside and closed the door behind them. Judging by the lack of yelling, they hadn’t been spotted. “I’m more concerned with how lax security is around here that a troll could get into the castle. They’re not exactly bright.”

“I’m much more concerned with where it is right now,” said Draco. “It could have left the dungeons, you know. Someone probably let it in, I don’t know why but I’d like to keep away from it so please let’s move?”

In silent agreement, they left the abandoned classroom and wandered the corridors, making sure to stick close to the walls. Draco remembered that his soulmate had likely snuck out when he wasn’t supposed to as well, and desperately hoped that this wasn’t going to become a pattern. Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he led the other two to the end of another corridor and looked around the corridor, just in time to see two very stupid Gryffindors run into—was that the girls’ toilets? Oh, they were so going to get found out later.

“Hang on,” he whispered to Pansy and Blaise, who gave him a strange look before hiding in the charms classroom that they were next to. He headed towards the toilets, fully ready to get Potter and Weasley in trouble for disobeying rules, before being brought to a halt by a loud crash from within the toilets, followed by faint shouts and coupled with louder roars. A creeping feeling that he had found the whereabouts of the troll had him caught at a crossroads—did he save the Gryffindors or head back to Pansy and Blaise? He knew what the logical solution was, of course. There was no reason why he should save Potter and Weasley, and he was sure he’d heard the screams of the mud— muggle-born Granger in there too. No way could he be seen in that sort of company, but, but—

He didn’t want them to _die_.

His feet carried him to the door and he forced it open just in time to catch an object that was hurtling at his face. A wand—Weasley was wandless—he had just been hit by the largest troll Draco had ever seen—Potter was on top of the troll—what the fuck was a fully grown mountain troll doing in a school? But Weasley was looking at him—time was slowed—both Weasley and Potter were wandless—he threw the wand back at him and reached for his own.

“ _Wingardium leviosa_!”

Both boys reached for the spell at the same time, the incantation coming to mind from their lesson just hours previously. Weasley’s spell hit the troll’s club, lifting it over the troll’s tiny head. Draco’s spell hit Potter, lifting him off the troll and away in time for the massive club to come crashing down on top of its head.

Potter landed a few feet away, as the troll lurched forward, towards Weasley and Draco, took another feeble step, and then collapsed. It was rather impressive to watch, though Draco was more interested in scrambling away before it crushed him. There was a moment of silence. All four children crowded round the troll.

“I am never leaving the dormitories without my wand again,” said Granger faintly. Potter briskly walked towards the head of the troll where his wand lay on the floor, having been knocked out of its nose when it was hit with the club.

“Eugh, troll snot.” He wiped the wand on its clothes and examined it at arm’s length before looking back at the troll. “Do you think it’s dead?”

“Doubt it,” said Weasley, kicking hits head. The troll snorted and Potter backed away. “Just unconscious. Say, do you think they’ll still let us have dessert?”

“I didn’t get to have the feast,” said Granger mournfully. “Someone made me too upset to eat.” The second statement was directed at a suddenly rather sheepish Weasley.

“We just beat a fully grown mountain troll at ELEVEN YEARS OLD and you’re talking about the feast?” Draco was appalled at how nonchalant they could be about it. Six confused eyes stared back at him.

“It’s not like we killed it,” said Weasley.

“That… is SO far from the issue here! You’re all idiots, what were you thinking?” How could they not realize how dangerous that had been? Even Gryffindors—“We’re lucky to be alive.”

“I sentiment I wholly agree with, Mr Malfoy.” Draco spun round to face Professor McGonagall, followed by Professor Snape and Quirrell. Her eyes seemed to be on fire, and he was silently thankful that it was probably against the rules for teachers to kill students. “What could you have been thinking? You were all given express orders to go straight to your dormitories!” Her eyes roamed over all of them before settling on Potter, evidently looking for an excuse.

“Professor, I—”

“It was my fault,” came Granger’s voice. Draco’s head whipped round to stare at her in disbelief; was she going to take the blame? “I went looking for the troll. I’ve read about them and I thought I could defeat it. Harry and Ron came looking for me. Malfoy heard the shouts and came to help.”

Draco looked hesitantly back at the teachers. It may not have been far from the truth, but Granger had never lied to a teacher before to his knowledge. Professor McGonagall, at least, seemed to accept it. She nodded slowly.

“Were any of you hurt?” When none of them admitted to any injury, she turned her glare to Granger, who pushed herself back into the wall in an attempt to scramble away. “You foolish girl, how could you go looking for danger like this? Five points from Gryffindor for severe lack of judgement. Return to the Gryffindor common room at once.”

Granger hung her head as she left. Potter and Weasley looked as shocked at Malfoy felt, though he kept his face smoothed over as Professor McGonagall looked back up at them, trying very hard to look unsurprised. “As for the rest of you, did you not think to alert a teacher when you noticed Miss Granger sneaking away? However, the use of simple magic is rather impressive, as is the resolve to save the life of a fellow student. Five points to each of you, along with fair warning. The feast will be continued in your respective dormitories.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Draco inclined his head and left without sparing the others a glance, heading straight back to Blaise and Pansy, preparing some excuse about hiding from a teacher.

~

Ron watched Hermione leave in shock. Guilt instantly washed over him; how could he have been so cruel to her earlier? And then she had gotten herself in trouble for them, even if the punishment hadn’t been that harsh. Making a mental note to apologise to her later, he turned his attention back to McGonagall.

Five points each, he felt, was hardly fair considering how they had managed to defeat an adult troll, even if there had been four of them and the troll was rather stupid. Then again, she could have taken more points just as easily. He decided to remain grateful.

“The feast will be continued in your separate dormitories,” McGonagall concluded. Malfoy thanked her, inclining his head, and as he did so, Ron noticed on his back a flash of wings and what looked like snakes and—

No.

Absolutely not. He must have been mistaken. But that mark, even just the glimpse of it he saw, was so familiar, and so… unique, that it would be difficult for it to be just a coincidence. Though he only saw the top of the mark, and it really was very faint—one small mercy—there was no mistaking Harry’s soulmark on Malfoy’s back.

*

Naturally, Ron had to talk about it to someone. He already knew that Dean and Seamus would probably find it hilarious and Neville would be horrified. They were out of the question. So, after seeking her out at the feast and apologizing profusely, he brought it up with Hermione, approaching the subject as carefully as he could.

“I need to talk to you about something,” he said, dragging her to the corner of the room. “I’m swearing you to silence, by the way.”

“Who would I tell?” she said dryly. “I’m listening.”

Ron looked around him to make sure that nobody could be listening in, then turned back to Hermione. “I think that Harry’s soulmate is Malfoy.”

Rather than acting like it was the life-changing news that Ron knew it was, Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense. I saw a soulmark on Malfoy’s ankle and I thought I recognized it from somewhere. I must have noticed it on Harry at some point. Where is it?”

“His wrist. But, Hermione—”

“Then I probably saw it when he answered a question or when he was writing. Oh! Is that why he’s been wearing those bandages lately? I heard that he’s broken his wrist, but it didn’t look like that when he was fighting the troll. Plus, Madame Pomfrey could have mended that easily.”

“That was the story we put out. I need to be sure though, I only got a glimpse, what mark did you see on Malfoy’s ankle?”

“A white rose.”

Ron sunk back into the chair next to the fireplace with his head in his hands. “That settles it then, I guess. Should we tell him?”

“We?”

“Yeah, we fought a troll together so now we’re friends, which means that you have to help me with the tragedy that is who Harry’s soulmate is.”

Hermione looked strangely happy at that, for what reason Ron couldn’t say. He certainly wasn’t feeling very happy at the moment.

“I don’t think we should. Malfoy did help with the troll, but I think it’s too early for anything like… that,” she said. “I think Harry would go into shock, I may have only been your friend for half an hour but everyone knows how much he hates Malfoy, which is understandable. Maybe wait and see how it works out?”

Ron stared at Hermione for a moment. “I honestly don’t know how I managed to get this far in life without you. I would absolutely love to not get involved in this. And you’re sure that this is the best course of action?”

“The best I can think of. Soulmates are supposed to come together eventually anyway, right?”

“We definitely don’t want to speed this up. Why did it have to be Malfoy?” He said, exasperated. “He’d better learn to not be such a bigot by the time they ‘come together’ or I’ll start a riot.”

“Please don’t. Anyway, Malfoy’s eleven, and he’s been raised with prejudice his whole life, from what I’ve heard. It must be hard to break out of these beliefs, give him time.” Hermione said.

“How the hell do you know that?” Ron realized that his mouth was open and shut it promptly.

“Don’t look like that. You’d be surprised how much you pick up when people don’t have to worry about you talking. Back to the point, I’m absolutely positive that Harry’s soulmate wouldn’t be someone who goes around attacking people like me.”

“Yeah, but… Malfoy?” Ron rolled his eyes. “Even if he isn’t a pure-blood elitist, or won’t be in the future or whatever, he’s a total prick. He laughed at Harry for getting the answers wrong at the start of the year in potions!”

“I’m sure it will work out for the best?” Hemione offered just as Harry came over with a plate covered in treacle tart.

“What are we talking about?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a question!
> 
> What ships would you like to see? Obviously the main ship will be Drarry, but who else do you want to see together? I don't mind as long as it's not something really cursed.
> 
> I've seen some really cursed ships.
> 
> Anyway Let Draco Say Fuck


	8. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pansy and Blaise speak with Hermione and Ron for the first time, and matchmaker Pansy makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I'm alive!   
> I kinda lost motivation for this story but I forgot that I had some more chapters to post. I'll be doing them biweekly and I'll make a start on some more chapters soon, promise!

Somehow, the troll incident had gotten out to the student body as a whole. While nobody knew the specifics, they had seemed to notice the absences and the slight change in points. Naturally, this meant that the theories were beginning to get out of control. Some believed that Granger had been transformed into a troll and taken Draco prisoner, leaving Potter and Weasley to team up with Pansy and Blaise to save them, while others seemed to be under the impression that the troll never existed in the first place and they had tricked Quirrell in order to have a duel. Draco much preferred the latter, but it didn’t seem to be spreading quite as well as the first. He suspected Pansy and Blaise had had something to do with that.

He’d told Pansy and Blaise a story that was much closer to the truth, while leaving out the fact that he’d actually helped any Gryffindors. As far as they knew, Draco had arrived at the same time as the teachers, who had defeated the troll and given Slytherin points for his quick response. He made a great show of lamenting over the fact that he’d only wanted to get Potter and Weasley into trouble but had ended up the at the centre of the rumours for the day. It had helped that he didn’t have to lie.

Draco was now sitting in the shade of one of the trees on the Hogwarts grounds, Greg and Vincent discussing Quidditch on the other side of the tree as Blaise and Pansy bickered about something-or-other in the grass next to him. Draco was sketching the castle, which was why he was the first to notice three figures coming up from the large doors and making their way directly towards them. He closed the sketchbook with a sigh, resigning himself to being interrogated about the troll once more—really, this was why he’d gone to the tree in the first place—only to realize that this was probably not going to happen when he saw that it was Potter, Weasley and Granger.

“What the hell are they doing here?” He muttered, standing up. Taking notice of his movement, Blaise and Pansy paused in their heated discussion to follow Draco’s gaze before sharing a look that Draco didn’t have to understand to be rather uncomfortable with.

“Malfoy, can we speak with you?” said Potter as he approached. “In private?”

“Forgive me, but I don’t feel fully comfortable being alone with three Gryffindors. Nothing you have to say can be particularly important, anyway.”

“Fine, then. Hermione, Ron, could you wait here?”

Weasley made a face of contempt, but Granger gave him a quelling look and he went quiet. Draco wasn’t sure what had just happened, but it probably meant that he would be alone with Potter for long enough to be cursed in some way. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be seen to back down, so he found himself agreeing and walking a few feet away from safety.

“So, what did you want to talk about that was so important?”

~

“Um, is it okay if we sit here?” Hermione asked hesitantly. Parkinson gestured towards the ground, and she and Ron took that as an invitation to take a seat. There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence, interrupted only by Crabbe and Goyle’s oblivious conversation. Now that she was in a better place to listen, it occurred to Hermione that they might not be as entirely idiotic as they put across. Although she didn’t know the first thing about Quidditch, she noticed how Ron was listening in with interest and recognized the ease with which conversation flowed between them.

The polar opposite of the tense atmosphere on their side of the tree.

Parkinson evidently had less reservations than the rest of them, as she was the first to speak. “Judging by the fact that you’re not trying to hex us, I take it that you know?”

“What?” Ron said.

“You know, about them?” she nodded at Harry and Malfoy, who had both taken rather defensive stances. Thankfully no wands had been drawn yet. Parkinson winked.

“Oh. Oh! Yes, yes we know!” Hermione nodded. “Er, you didn’t tell Malfoy, did you?”

“No, of course not,” said Zabini. “I wanted to, but she swore me to secrecy when she told me, so my hands are tied. Does Potter know?”

“No, we thought it best to let it play out.” Hermione looked at Ron, who was looking at her in horror. “What?”

“You’re just…” he lowered his voice. “They’re _Slytherins_ , Hermione!”

“Yes, I noticed. They’re also friends with Harry’s soulmate. I’m sure they’re not going to kill us.” She turned to Parkinson and Zabini. “Are you going to kill us?”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Zabini drawled. “Don’t worry yourself Weasley, we’re well aware of our reputation. Fortunately for you both, we don’t all subscribe to our parents’ ideologies.”

“There you go then,” Hermione said, feeling as though the subject was settled. There was another awkward silence before Harry and Malfoy came back, neither of whom seemed harmed in any way. Hermione and Ron stood up next to Harry as Malfoy sat down before nodding tersely at the group of Slytherins and making their way back to the castle.

~

Once they were out of earshot, Harry found himself bombarded with questions, mostly by Hermione, though Ron had a few of his own. Overwhelmed, he waved his hands to get them to slow down.

“Sorry, sorry, I can’t hear you if you both speak at once. Why do you have so many questions? You were there when we decided what to say.”

“Are you alright, Harry? He didn’t try to attack you, did he?”

“No, though I would have been ready if he had. I didn’t get much out of it, he just sort of insulted me every time I asked a question.” Harry said. He’d tried to figure out why Malfoy had bothered saving them, but had only been told that it was an action that he “sorely regretted” and ended up assuming that he’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’d also asked how it was that he’d been able to lift Harry into the air with such precision when they’d only just started on moving heavier objects around at all. Malfoy had responded by saying that if he “spent less time breaking rules and more time practicing spell work,” then he’d be able to do it too. Harry had had to restrain himself from pointing out that Malfoy had been sneaking off too. Normally, he would have snapped back, but he was starting to think that maybe Malfoy’s “I’m so much better than you peasants” act really was just an act, and he said as much to Hermione and Ron. “He could have just let us be beaten by the troll, but he didn’t. Maybe he’s secretly a good person?”

“That cannot be where the bar is,” Ron said vehemently. Harry appealed to Hermione, who frowned.

“He did react pretty quickly in the bathroom. If he was evil, he’d have just said that there was nothing he could do. He’s a bigot though, and he can be very nasty. Then again, he is only eleven, and he’s nowhere near as bad as his father. He hasn’t physically hurt any of us, even though his prejudices are inexcusable.”

“He’s a Slytherin,” Ron pointed out stubbornly. Harry and Hermione shared a look of exasperation at this.

“Ron, you can’t blame his personality on his house. Parkinson and Zabini seemed perfectly nice.” said Hermione. Harry nodded.

“Also, Malfoy told me to tell you that nobody was to know that he’d actually saved us. Said it would ‘ruin his reputation’ or something. So, I think it’s an act.”

“Harry, mate, I know you want to see the best in people, but I think this is a stretch.” Ron said. Harry saw Hermione mouth something at Ron, though he didn’t catch what it was. It seemed to have an effect on Ron, though, because he finally conceded. “Fine. Just don’t be so quick to trust people, okay? Malfoy’s a bigot.”

“Relax, Ron. It’s not like I’m about to become his best friend or anything. I still hate him, and I’m not about to forgive him for everything he’s called the both of you, but it makes sense, don’t you think?” Harry thought he heard Ron mutter something, but let it go.

Hermione nodded understandably, though Harry wasn’t sure what it was that she understood. “Do you want to write to your soulmate about the troll? It might help to quell some of the rumours.” Harry had told Hermione that morning that he’d been communicating with his soulmate for a while now and he was grateful for the change in subject.

“I already did, but I don’t think I quite managed to slow them down or anything.”

“What did you do?”

Harry coughed to hide his embarrassment. “Have you heard the one about how the troll beat us with its mind-control powers and now we’re clones walking around the school?”

“Oh, Harry, you didn’t…” the side of Hermione’s mouth twitched and Ron burst into peals of laughter.

“It’s not that funny!” Harry protested. “I got carried away with they idea that she doesn’t know who I am yet! It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“They probably think you’re a right idiot now, mate,” said Ron, clapping him on the back.

“She doesn’t know that it isn’t the truth,” Harry pointed out. Ron continued to laugh while Hermione was holding back a smile with very little success.

“I think that anyone with half a brain-cell can tell that it isn’t the truth, I’m afraid,” she said. “Never mind, Harry, you’ll have plenty of time to convince them that you’re not insane.”

“Can we just talk about Quidditch now? Please?”

~

The Slytherin common room could be considered creepy or comforting, depending on one’s outlook on the world. There was always a source of light—even if the candles weren’t lit and it was night, there were forms of bioluminescent life in the lake, be it fungal or animal. These were now casting a dim, green glow over the room in which Pansy and Blaise lounged next to the fireplace. Draco had long since gone to bed, but Pansy had other plans.

“You know, if we’re going to help our dear Draco figure out that it’s Potter he’s been conversing with this whole time, we’re going to need to give him a push,” she said, tapping the parchment in front of her with the end of her quill. Blaise looked up from his book and squinted at her.

“Yes, I’m sure that will go down well. What do you propose we say? ‘Hi Draco, you know that guy who insulted you at the start of the year and who you’ve been showing only your worst side to since? Turns out that he’s your soulmate, sorry.’”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not a Gryffindor. Which reminds me, we’re going to need to get Granger and Weasley in on this too.” She started scratching at the parchment and Blaise sat up a little straighter to see what she was writing.

“You’re writing a letter to them?”

“We’re not about to go up to them and start demanding that they meet us privately, are we? Potter and Weasley are inseparable and it looks like Granger’s going the same way. We’d end up starting a fight.”

“Who is this ‘we’ you keep mentioning?”

“Oh Blaise, I’m not letting you get out of this. You don’t get to know the secret without helping out a little. Don’t worry, we’re going to start off just by getting to know each other. Hopefully, they’ll manage to prove that Potter’s not an idiot, though I wouldn’t get my hopes up. We all saw Harry dive from the top of Hogwarts with no training.”

“What do I get out of this?” Blaise said, finally putting his book to the side.

“You get a guarantee that I won’t draw dicks on your face the moment you find your soulmate,” Pansy said, not looking up from the letter. “And there will be biscuits at the meetings.”

“What kind?”  
  
“You’ll have to come to find out,” she said, folding the letter up and sliding it into an envelope. “I’ll go to the owlery to send this off tomorrow morning.”

“Fine, I’ll come,” said Blaise. “At least to start with. Are you sure that it’s Potter, by the way? How the hell are they going to stop arguing for long enough to realise that they’re soulmates?”

“It can only be him. Process of elimination. Plus, Granger and Weasley are pretty sure of it too, which all but confirms it.” She stood up. “I’m going to bed now, I think.”

Blaise watched her go, mildly apprehensive. He decided that he didn’t care enough to question her motives—she was probably just bored, if anything. In his opinion, she should be more worries about finding her own soulmate, but she’d made it very clear that she wasn’t interested in finding her and would wait until it happened naturally. This was all fine by Blaise, but now she was meddling with Draco and was trying to drag him into it?

He went back to his book. It was going to be a long day tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco's always been under a lot of pressure from his father to conform to pureblood expectations and to believe that muggle-borns are inherently bad. I put that near slip-up in the last chapter, where Draco nearly referred to Hermione as a mudblood in his head, to show that he's at least trying. He did still say muggle-born instead of her name, which obviously isn't good, but this version of Draco has already started to learn that his father isn't always right. As I said through Hermione, it is extremely difficult to change your beliefs once you realise that they're wrong, and Lucius probably told Draco that he wasn't even to associate himself with muggle-borns at Hogwarts, hence how he's behaving. And yes, he's still rather narcissistic until Voldemort returns, but I'm not going to write him aligning with those beliefs, partly because I don't think I'm good enough of a writer to do it properly.
> 
> Anyway, this is going to get longer than the actual chapter at this point, which is the shortest chapter I've written so far, so sorry about that haha.


	9. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry catches the snitch for Gryffindor and Hermione and Ron go to a study meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was really short, so have this longer one by way of apology. It's about 1000 words longer than average because I didn't know where to stop haha.
> 
> Criticism is appreciated!

A letter landed in front of Hermione at breakfast two days later, addressed to both her and Ron. She stared a few minutes, evidently confused, before Ron picked it up and opened it himself, holding it out for Hermione to read too. On the other side of the table, Harry was desperately curious as to the contents of the letter.

“What does it say?”

“Oh, nothing,” Hermione said quickly as Ron folded it up and slid it into his pockets. Harry tried not to feel annoyed that they were keeping it from him. He was sure they had a good reason, but it clearly wasn’t nothing. Ron seemed apprehensive yet resigned, while Hermione looked rather excited. Maybe it was about extra homework. “You should eat, Harry.”

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled. His first Quidditch match was that day, and after being reminded of it by everyone he’d met that morning, he’d completely lost his appetite. It hadn’t helped that Snape had taunted him not five minutes ago. Hermione looked at him sympathetically.

“The Slytherin team is known for being brutal, mate. You can’t go up against them on an empty stomach,” said Ron. Hermione glared at him as Harry sunk lower into his seat, picking at his toast.

“What Ron means is that you won’t be on top of your game if you don’t eat. Finish your toast, if nothing else.”

Harry sighed and sat up to start eating again. They were right, he knew, but he was still nervous. What if he fell off his broom in mid-air? He didn’t know if he could take the humiliation. If he lost to Slytherin, Malfoy would never let him hear the end of it.

“Did you write to your soulmate about this?” Hermione asked. Ron huffed and went back to eating at the topic change. Harry shook his head.  
“I didn’t want to risk it. We agreed that we’d keep our identities secret until we figured it out ourselves, and this would narrow it down to the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams,” he said, taking another bite of his toast.

“What if you phrased it like you were taking a test? You could explain that it wasn’t something you could say too much about and keep your identity secret while still talking it over with them.”

“I suppose that could work,” he said slowly. “Maybe I’ll do that before the next match.” Hermione went back to her book just as Fred and George showed up to drag Harry away. Ron gave him a thumbs up and Harry smiled weakly back. Despite the weeks of practice and discussion of tactics, he felt wholly underprepared.

Harry changed into his Quidditch robes with a mix of nerves and excitement. Part of him was terrified that he was going to let everyone down, but part of him was ready to be in the air again. The early mornings had been worth it every time to start the day off with flying practice, and the elation had never worn off.

Now Wood was giving a speech, and Fred and George were on either side of him, joking about how Wood’s speech never changed, and Harry was grateful for the sense of normalcy they provided. The speech was over quickly, and then they were on the pitch, and Madame Hooch was telling them to mount their brooms. She said something else, but Harry’s eyes were caught by a large banner. It said “Potter For President” in large, flashing letters, and a lion in what he recognized as Dean’s art style. He laughed a bit out of embarrassment, but managed to relax, feeling far braver and much less dizzy than before. And then they were off.

The action started immediately, with Gryffindor chaser Angelica catching the quaffle and passing to Alicia only for it to be taken by Slytherin, as narrated by Lee Jordan’s colourful commentary. Harry circled above the pitch in search for a glint of gold. Several times he though he’d seen the snitch, only for it to have been a golden ring or a necklace, or once, the reflection from one of the Weasley twins’ watches. Gryffindor was the first to score, and the stands erupted into noise for the first score of the year. Harry continued to scour the pitch, until a few minutes later, Lee noticed the snitch, and Harry saw it next to Pucey’s ear, and he dived, Slytherin seeker Higgs right next to him, and then Marcus Flint was in front of him and his broom spun off course. Not only had he lost sight of the snitch, but he had almost lost control of his broom, and was clutching onto it for dear life.

He was dimly aware of the Gryffindors shouting for a foul, and Spinnet scoring a free shot for Gryffindor. His broom rose slowly back into the air as he tried to calm himself down, fixating on looking for the snitch again. A bludger spun past his ear, and would have hit him too if it weren’t for his broom lurching suddenly to the side. The moment of relief passed less than a second later as his broom jolted again, almost throwing him off this time. He fought to regain control of it, only to realise that it wasn’t listening to him.

Nobody else seemed to have noticed that Harry’s broom was moving erratically across the pitch, and was beginning to gain height. The air felt thinner up here, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded.

His grip weakened just as the Nimbus gave a shocking jolt that threw him off. Now he was holding on by one hand, and the spectators had definitely noticed by now. His thick gloves were making it harder to hold on properly and he was suspended far above the stands, all too aware that there was enough distance between himself and the frozen ground to kill him on impact. The broom shifted again, and Harry closed his eyes, ready to be shaken off and to fall to his death, and then it stopped.

He slowly opened his eyes. Whatever had been causing his Nimbus to try and kill him had let it go. Feeling a burst of adrenaline, he managed to pull himself up and swing his leg back over the broom. Looking back down, he saw the Weasley twin hovering below him, clearly planning to catch him had he fallen. He took a deep breath and gave them a thumbs up before moving back down to the level he was before, and then he saw it.  
The snitch was flitting a few metres away from one of the Slytherin chasers. A glance at Higgs told him that he hadn’t noticed it yet, and he wasn’t looking Harry’s way. Steeling himself, he pointed his broom towards the flash of gold and dove towards it, the rush of air past his ears accompanied by a feeling of weightlessness as he sped straight for the small, golden ball.

He pulled himself out of the dive once he was level with the snitch, and It wasn’t until he heard the gasps at the stands that he realised just how close to the ground he was already. His shoes were brushing against the ground and he pulled them up behind him, leaning forward until he was almost lying flat on the broom, one hand clinging on, the other hand stretched out for the snitch. It was inches away from his hand, and he put on a last burst of speed to catch it, but his flew right past his hand. For a moment, he wondered were it had gone until he felt something cold and round in his mouth. He brought his broom to a sudden halt in shock, and the snitch spilled into his hands.

~

During the post-match party, Ron and Hermione were sitting by the common room fireplace, having told Harry what happened during the match. He didn’t look surprised to hear that it was Snape who cast the curse, and told them that he’d seen him limping during the troll incident, and later seen the extent of the injury himself. This, Ron thought, was extremely suspicious.

“I bet he let the troll in,” he said excitedly. “I bet he used it as a distraction to get to whatever that dog’s guarding. Maybe he knew that you’d seen it, Harry, and that’s why he tried to kill you!” Hermione slapped him on the arm at that.

“Who do you think Flamel is?” she said. Hagrid had let it slip after the match that someone called Nicolas Flamel was involved in the whole thing. It was their biggest clue up until now. “I’m sure I’ve read about him somewhere, but I can’t remember where for the life of me.”

“I think I recognize the name too,” said Harry thoughtfully. Ron frowned. Where could he have read about it? They hadn’t covered it in class, otherwise Hermione would already know exactly who he was.

“He’s obviously connected to Dumbledore somehow,” he said, “but we can’t very well talk to him.”

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, trying to come up with a plan to figure out what exactly was behind that trapdoor, and why Snape wanted to steal it. Something with that level of protection had to be either really valuable or really dangerous, possibly even both. The firelight lit up Harry and Hermione’s somber expressions, and Ron knew that he must look the same. Other people were starting to take notice of their silence, and eventually the team dragged Harry away to celebrate their win. Ron turned to Hermione.

“Do you want to go eat something? Sitting here isn’t going to do anything except get us depressed.”

Hermione blinked and looked up. “Oh—yes, okay then.” She glanced at the clock. “Wait—the letter!”

Ron followed her gaze. The letter Parkinson had sent them was still in his pocket, and he checked the time they were supposed to meet. “We still have half an hour before it turns ten o’clock. Are we really doing this?”

“It’ll be no good to Harry and Malfoy if their friends can’t even get along,” she reasoned. “And we should leave now, otherwise we’ll get caught being out of bed after curfew.”

“Fine, but I’m taking some food with me.” Ron took a plate and filled it with an array of biscuits and sandwiches before grabbing some plastic cups and sliding them into his pocket. He rolled his eyes at Hermione’s incredulous look. “We need to eat something for dinner. Call it a peace offering.”

“I’m not cleaning that up for you if you drop it,” she said, before glancing back up at the clock. “Are you sure the letter says ten o’clock? Not nine o’clock or anything?”

Ron unfolded the letter and read it for the third time that day. “‘Meet us in the trophy room at ten o’clock today. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going, especially Potter. – PP.’ I still hold that it’s quite suspicious that she doesn’t want us to tell anyone. Who’s ‘us’? It could mean the whole of Slytherin house, for all we know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron. She just doesn’t want it to get out they they’re soulmates, it would cause uproar. She was probably deliberately vague so that if we’re caught on the way back, the letter won’t be traced back to them. She might be one for gossip, but I don’t think she’s told anyone about something regarding soulmates before, and I know that she knows what everyone’s soulmark is.” Hermione paused to take the parchment out of Ron’s hand. “You know, it’s quite a well-worded note.”

“Yes, well, if we’re done gushing over Parkinson’s penmanship, can we go and get this over and done with? I’m only doing this for Harry, mind you.”

“I know you are,” she sighed, handing the letter back. “Shall we?”

They excused themselves from the party and headed down to the trophy room. Ron remembered that it was the same place that Malfoy had challenged him and Harry to a duel at the start of the year, so clearly that was why they were going there. Hermione brushed it off.

“There’s a reason why Malfoy picked that room, isn’t there? It’s always unlocked and never used. You’d think that they’d put more effort into protecting their trophies…”

They arrived about ten minutes early. Hermione was very wary of being caught—although they weren’t technically out of bed after curfew yet, they were very close and knew that Snape especially would love to get them in trouble. After he cursed Harry’s broom, even she had been persuaded that he was bad news. They slipped into the dark trophy room.

“It’s still empty,” whispered Hermione, “they’re not here yet.”

“We are quite early,” Ron said, setting down his plate of food carefully on the floor. “They probably won’t be here for another quarter of an hour. _Lumos_.” The light from Ron’s wand bounced off the hundreds of trophies, cups and plaques that decorated the walls of the trophy room, illuminating them both. Hermione moved the plate from the floor to a table with shaking hands.

“What if they don’t come? It’s dark, and we’ll get into trouble if we go back now. What if we get caught?”

“We’ll just have to be careful.” Ron sat down on the floor, leaning up against a wall. “You were the one who spent all day persuading me to come down here. We can’t go back now.”

“I know, I do know that, but still…” Hermione paced the room while Ron tried not to fall asleep. He was just about to tell her to sit down when the door opened and in marched Parkinson, Zabini trailing behind her. She closed the door and locked it before turning to the stunned Gryffindors.

“Welcome,” she said, “to the first Slytherdore meeting in quite some time, probably, I didn’t bother to check.”

Hermione, who had stopped pacing the moment that the door opened, had relief etched all over her face. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come!”

“They’re on time, ‘Mione,” Ron yawned, sitting up straighter. “She insisted on cutting our first post-match party short for this, so it had better be worth it.”

“Oh, we’re sorry,” said Zabini, not sounding it. “I, for one, would prefer to be in bed right now, but apparently this is more important.”

“Yes, it is,” said Parkinson. She pulled up a chair and sat in it cross-legged with a gleam in her eyes. “Isn’t this exciting? And most curious. It’s very rare that two soulmates will be in such conflicting houses. Of course, the most common pairings will be of two from the same house. This year, Potter and Draco are the only two from different houses—and it’s Gryffindor and Slytherin!”

“Something tells me that you’re far more interested in how this happened,” said Hermione, though she didn’t sound critical. “For two supposedly compatible soulmates to hate each other so much—I did some reading around the subject and it’s practically unheard of. Of course, there are a few examples. Malfoy and Harry have such… different upbringings. In all other cases that I read about, this held true. I reckon they'll balance each other out, somehow.”

Ron looked between the two of them apprehensively. He did feel mildly uncomfortable discussing his best friend’s and enemy’s possible relationship, even though it seemed that the cared more about the actual history behind such a paring. He cleared his throat.

“As fascinating as this is, Hermione and I haven’t eaten yet.” He went to get the plate of food. “We brought some sandwiches and biscuits from the party, and I’ve got some cups too. I never thought I’d be offering to share food with Slytherins, but it’s been a strange day.”

Zabini took a cheese sandwich and sniffed it suspiciously. Parkinson gave him a withering look and took a biscuit. “Gryffindors don’t poison people, Blaise. I must admit, I’m surprised that it’s you of all people who’s offering food.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron snapped, instantly putting his guard up.

“Nothing, nothing,” said Parkinson, “just that we haven’t exactly done anything to you, hardly ever even interacted, and yet you treat us with continued hostility.”

“Do calm down, Ron,” Hermione said, though it was clear that she was concerned about how they'd treat her as a muggle-born. “Can we agree to leave all prejudices behind in this room unless we are discussing and dismantling them?”

“Certainly, Granger,” Zabini replied. “We’ll never get anywhere otherwise.”

Parkinson nodded her approval. “In which case, let’s officially start the first of the Secret Talks Undermining Discriminatrion in Youth, STUDY for short.”

“She spent ages on that acronym,” Zabini said. Ron tried—and failed—not to smirk as Parkinson shot him a glare.

“It’s so that we can talk about it without seeming suspicious. Of course, we’ll have to keep this secret, otherwise word might get back to Draco and Potter.” She seemed to be pulsing with excitement about having a secret of her own rather than the ones she spread around the school all the time.

“I suppose we should do proper introductions, then,” said Ron, surprising even himself. Three sets of eyes turned to him with clearly different reactions, and felt his neck heat up as he continued. “I mean, the first impressions we had of each other wasn’t great.”

“I do believe that the first thing you heard me say was an insult to Longbottom,” said Pansy. “Of course, I was just covering for Draco at the time. Blaise told me later that he originally picked up the Remembrall to see if he’d actually met his soulmate yet, testing the stronger magic, you know.”

“There was ink all over his shoulder and back, so we couldn’t tell,” said Zabini. “I don’t suppose you know about why that is?”

“Oh, yeah, we were out past curfew. Filch almost caught us so we hid and Harry knocked over a pot of ink while he was under a table. Don’t look like that,” said Ron, catching Hermione’s scandalized look, “you’re out after curfew right now.”

“So, about those introductions,” said Pansy, draping herself over the chair like a cat. “I’m Pansy Parkinson. I’m the mastermind behind all these meetings and am known for my ability to spread rumours. I also,” she added, producing a sketchbook, “have rather a gift for art, which I use to catalogue everyone’s soulmarks. Potter always keeps his covered and so it was one of the few that I didn’t know, which made narrowing it down a lot easier. I like chocolate and have a far better taste in fashion than my mother, who does insist on dressing me up in pink frills for formal events.” She made a face of distaste. Ron knew most of this already—her ability in art, her use of the rumour mill and her preference for dark clothes—but coming from her it made her seem more human in a way.

“Blaise Zabini,” was next, “Weasley probably knows that my mother marries into wealth and that’s how she makes a living. She never found her soulmate and says that she intends to continue living like this even if she does. Granger, this is probably news to you. I, for one, am planning to wait and see what happens. I could probably try harder in classes, but it’s so damn hard to stay awake. I’ve honestly accepted the fact that History of Magic is a lost cause. Potions is okay but the fumes give me a headache. My favourite is transfiguration. I was looking forward to Defense because you’re supposed to learn some really cool spells, but Quirrell’s a joke. Plus, he hates Draco so I have to hate him too. I can only hope that we’ll have a more competent professor next year. The position’s cursed, you know.” Ron was really starting to hate the fact that he was sympathizing with these people. The idea that he and Zabini of all people shared the same feelings in regards to their subjects was only made worse by the fact that he was starting to feel relaxed. He even laughed when Zabini called Quirrell a joke—granted, it was more of a snort than a laugh, but he couldn’t help but feel like he should be at least a little more on edge.

“I’m Hermione Granger, please call me Hermione,” she said, to Ron’s horror. “After all, these meeting are supposed to help us get along aren’t they? I’d feel uncomfortable being referred to by my surname among friends.” She rudely ignored that Ron was choking and went on to say, “I know that you know that I’m muggle-born, and that I try to work hard in my classes. Back when I was in muggle education, I was never really very popular, most likely because I’m not conventionally attractive. As a result, I threw myself into my studies, and I suppose that only magnified when I found out I could study magic. My parents are dentists—healers but just for teeth—and I was originally going to go into medicine like them. I’d quite like to become a Healer now, magical illnesses are just so fascinating!”

Ron blinked at her for a second before finishing up. “I’m Ron Weasley, and I suppose you can call me Ron. I live with my family, I have five older brothers, three of whom are at Hogwarts still, and a sister who’s starting next year. I still have no idea what I want to do when I grow up, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. My mum makes great food, maybe I can ask her to send some over and I can take it to these 'study' meeting things? I support the Chudley Cannons—don’t laugh, I’m loyal to my team and the orange isn’t too bad once you get used to it—and I like to play chess. I’m rather good, actually.”

“We’re all doing first names, then?” said Parkinson, ignoring Zabini’s raised eyebrow. “Pansy and Blaise, then. Now, showing team loyalty is one thing, but how did you come to support the Cannons in the first place when they’ve always been so terrible?”

Ron and Pansy devolved into a heated discussion about Quidditch while Blaise and Hermione, who were far less interested in the sport, struck up a conversation about muggle technology, which Blaise was far more interested in than most people realised. These conversations continued for a few hours, changing topics every now and then, until it turned midnight and they said their goodbyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You would not believe how long it took me to come up with a name that had 'study' as an acronym. Originally it was going to be Slytherdore Talks Undermining Discrimination in Youth but then I realised that I might want to include Luna later down the line.
> 
> Stay healthy guys!
> 
> \- Avery


	10. The Room of Requirement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ron and Hermione nearly get caught out after a STUDY session and find the room of requirement several books early

Harry and Ron had sent an owl to Hermione almost immediately, along with the chocolate frog card that Harry had discovered Flamel on. There wasn’t a lot of information, but at least they now knew that it was something to do with alchemy, and with the amount of time that Hermione spent in the library, they knew that she had to have read about it somewhere.

Now that they had found a lead to Nicolas Flamel, they found themselves with a new excitement throughout the rest of the day. The feeling of getting one step closer to the answer, feeling a new puzzle piece slide into place, had them whispering about what it could be in hushed voices. The library was closed for the day, but on boxing day they could look at the history of alchemy. Ron seemed a little dismayed by the idea of more research, but Harry reminded him that they couldn’t let Snape get whatever it was that had to be so guarded.

They received Hermione’s response over dinner. The twins had managed to drag Percy down to the Gryffindor table so that he couldn’t sit with the prefects, and were too busy trying to steal his prefect badge to notice when a brown owl dropped a letter in front of Ron. Harry looked away from the teachers’ table, where they were getting progressively more drunk, to read over his shoulder.

_Harry, Ron,_

_I’m not sure how much either of you know about alchemy, and even I only know a limited amount. Alchemy is something that even muggles have heard of, it was seen as a sort of early chemistry, turning lead into gold and the like. Of course, that’s practically impossible though muggle means, especially at the time, but if magic was involved, I imagine that it would be possible, if difficult. I’ll do what research I can in the muggle world for now. Please wait until I get back to carry on with the research, the list of books that I left don’t even touch on alchemy as it isn’t something that even crossed my mind. Now that I think of it, Professor Dumbledore probably put all the relevant books in the restricted section in an attempt to protect whatever’s underneath that trapdoor. Fortunately, I doubt that he put such measures in place in my local library._

_I’ll see what I can find. There probably won’t be many names, despite alchemy being more accepted than other forms of magic, but I’m hopeful that there will be more information in a book than on the back of a chocolate frog card._

_Merry Christmas, and thank you both for the books. I’ll see you in a week._

_Hermione_

Harry took the letter from Ron and skimmed over it again. “I never learned about alchemy in the muggle world,” he said.

“Yeah, but how much time did you spend in the library?” Said Ron. He had a point. Harry hadn’t had much time for the library growing up, having to be home on time for dinner after school. His primary school had had a rule about not going inside at break and lunch, and so he’d never been able to spend as much time reading as he might’ve liked. Besides, he hadn’t wanted to give Dudley and his gang another reason to bully him.

That night, Harry took the invisibility cloak and stole out of the dorms to look in the restricted section.

~

The first STUDY session after the Christmas Holidays was on a Thursday. Pansy had slipped a note to Hermione in potions, detailing their new meeting place behind a tapestry on the sixth floor. Apparently it was quite spacious and very few people knew about it—a “Slytherin secret,” she wrote. Ron and Hermione left the common room early, intending to check in on the Mirror of Erised that Harry had described to them. They wanted to make sure that it had been properly removed, but Hermione was also curious as to what she would see in it. The room was completely empty when they arrived, with no indication that it had been there in the first place.

As usual, they arrived at the tapestry earlier than Pansy or Blaise. Behind it was a heavy-looking oak door, which had been painted with some sort of varnish. The note explained that this was a popular meeting place for students who didn’t want to be found, and that a password could be assigned to it. This password would open into a different room that could only be accessed with the password. Having done some reading on how it worked, Hermione found out that it was quite similar to the Fidelius charm in structure, except access was connected to a word rather than a person, and all the different rooms were connected to the same door. According to Pansy, she had heard about the room from her parents over the holidays, and intended to make it the new permanent meeting place. Hermione wasn’t complaining, it was certainly easier than sneaking off to different places every night.

“Red Berry,” she whispered. The door clicked and cracked open. Ron opened it and followed her in, letting the tapestry fall back into place.

As they stepped into the room, lights flared up across the walls and lit up the square room. A small coffee table sat in the centre, and next to it was a rather expensive-looking silver and green sofa and two beanbags, one red and one gold. The juxtaposition was quite jarring. On the far wall was a crude sort of bookshelf. It was really only three planks of wood stuck to the wall with a stickling charm, with plant pots at either end which were clearly meant to act as book stoppers. Underneath the seats was a rather thick-looking white rug.

“I see they’ve already started decorating,” said Ron, settling down in the gold beanbag. Hermione, who was on snack duty that day, placed her assortment of Muggle sweets on the round coffee table before perching on the end of the sofa.

“I had my house-elves bring everything in,” came a voice from the door. They looked up to see that it was Blaise who spoke. “Obviously we couldn’t take it ourselves, that would be too suspicious, and we didn’t have the time to get it properly renovated, but this should be enough for now. We’ll add to it as time goes on.” Blaise finished by draping himself onto the red beanbag and shifting into a more comfortable position.

“It looks alright for a starting point,” said Hermione. “We were expecting an empty room. Where’s Pansy?”

“On her way,” he said. “She’s just going up to the owlery first to send off for something. Art supplies, probably.”

“I got her paints for Christmas, though,” said Hermione dubiously.

“Didn’t she say that her sketchbook was almost full, though? It might be that,” Ron offered, just as Pansy herself entered the room.

“Talking about me?”

“Yes, because you’re so important,” Blaise drawled, earning a flick to the forehead in response. “Ow! Do you ever cut your nails?”

“I am indeed,” Pansy responded, ignoring the question and sitting on the arm of the sofa. “Shall we begin?”

*

Hermione and Ron left before the Slytherins, as Gryffindor tower was further away from the room than the Slytherin dungeons. In fact, they were must have been closer than they thought, because once they reached the ground floor, they almost ran directly into Snape.

Ron grabbed Hermione’s wrist and dragged her into an abandoned classroom. She dragged a chair against the door to keep him from getting in, and they pressed themselves against the wall next to the door. They exchanged a look of fear—this wasn’t the first time they had almost been caught, but it was the first time they had felt almost trapped. What felt like an age had passed before Hermione plucked up the courage to climb on the chair on tiptoes to look out the small window on the door.

She jumped off the chair again, giving Ron a thumbs up. He moved the chair out of the way with a carefully cast _Wingardium Leviosa_.

“Should have stolen Harry’s invisibility cloak,” he muttered, “didn’t get caught when we were going to the mirror.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as they slipped out of the classroom, keeping a wary eye out for Snape. “We should go a different way back. He didn’t keep going up the stairs, so he’ll probably be on this floor still.”

They only made it halfway back up the staircase before it gave a sudden lurch. Ron grabbed the banister with a frown. “It can’t be midnight already.”

“We have been out for a particularly long time,” Hermione said. “I forgot this was a moving staircase, we need to hurry.” The staircase they were on was one that changed at midnight every night, but since they only ever used it to get to transfiguration on Mondays when the shortcut was closed off, they treated it like a normal set of stairs. By the time they finished climbing it, it had swung round to a part of the seventh floor with which they were totally unfamiliar.

“Blimey, this is high,” said Ron, looking down. He glanced at Hermione, who seemed quite faint. “Do you know how to get back to the dorms from here?”

“I—yes, I do, I memorized the map of the castle—can we get off the stairs?” She brushed past him, not waiting for an answer, and started marching down the corridor. Ron frowned and rushed after her.

“’Mione, wait!” he froze. Mrs Norris was in front of them, and Filch was audibly prowling around nearby. Hermione seemed to have collected herself, and pointed to the corridor leading away. They pressed themselves against the wall and made their way to a door which seemed to stand out from all the others, though Ron didn’t know why—he just hoped desperately that it would be an ideal hiding place, rather than some prison for another Cerberus.

The moment the door closed behind them, it seemed to block out all sound. Filch’s shuffling steps were instantly muted, and they could no longer hear the crackling of the candles which lined the walls outside.

“Do you think he saw us?” said Ron.

“I don’t think so,” Hermione said. “He didn’t shout after us. I hope we won’t have to wait in here long, I could really do with a rest.” As she spoke, a bed formed in the middle of the room, as though it had always been there. “Well, that’s… convenient.”

  
“Do you think the room heard you?” Ron walked over and pressed on the bed. It was a twin-sized bed with stripy grey sheets and dark wood and a mattress so soft that he almost fell onto it when he leaned a bit too hard.”

“More like it read my mind,” said Hermione, running her hand over a small chip at the head. “This is my bed, exactly as I left it.”

“So it’s copying your bedroom?” Ron sat down on the floor, which now had a rather comfy white carpet covering it. “Is this your carpet, then?”

“No, mine’s more beige, and certainly less fluffy. This would be a nightmare to keep clean, though it’s nice to sit on. I think it just gives up whatever we need at the time—I’m tired, so it brought my bed here, and you sat down, so it created a nice carpet.” She paused. “I do hope that we’re not stealing anything.”

“Technically it would be the room stealing it,” Ron said.

“I wonder if the room can give us anything else we want.” Hermione sat down next to him. “See if you can get something you don’t have.”

“Uh, sure. O great room—don’t laugh, I’m being respectful—O great room, I require a beach.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Hermione as the room expanded massively, much further than should have been physically possible. The bed and carpet had disappeared, and they were now sitting on a very large, very empty sandy beach, about half a kilometer from a sea. “Have you been here before?”

“Not this specific beach, no.” Ron picked up a handful of sand and let it trickle though his fingers. “It doesn’t seem to be an illusion, which means—ah crap!” He stood up, brushing sand off his robes. “I really should have thought this through. We’re going to end up trekking sand throughout the castle.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Hermione said. “The size of the room is starting to freak me out, though.” As she spoke, it shrunk again, and it was as though the beach had never been there. The sand on their robes disappeared too, much to Ron’s relief. “That must have been nearly the size of the Hogwarts grounds.”

“We should come here with Harry at some point. First, though, we need to head back. I’m just as tired as you are.”

The trek back to the Gryffindor dorms was much shorter than either of them though it should have been, and once they were back in the safety of the common room, Hermione suggested that maybe the room had several entrances.

“It must have known that we needed to get back quickly and undetected, and gave us an exit that was as close as possible to where we needed to be,” she said excitedly. “I’d love to investigate it further, do you think any of the teachers know about it?”

“They must do,” said Ron. “Though I’d rather not ask them about it directly. If they know that we know, they might get rid of it somehow. The next STUDY session isn’t until next week, right? So we can show it to Harry tomorrow night. If he brings the cloak, we probably won’t get caught again.”

“Ask him in the morning,” said Hermione, yawning. “I’m going to go to bed now.”

“Goodnight,” said Ron. She headed up the stairs and he sat in front of the fireplace. The last remaining signs of light were just visible, and he imagined that if he poked it, it would still be quite warm. Somehow not yet tired, he relit the fire. It crossed his mind that he could probably do his charms essay now, but he quickly dropped the idea. Although he didn’t want to go to bed, he didn’t quite have the energy to sit down and write about something he wasn’t interested in.

He ended up falling asleep in front of the fireplace, and when he woke up, it was at an hour nobody had any business being awake—6am. The fire was still alive, which meant that somebody else had been in the common room and re-lit it, probably quite recently. Feeling his shoulders ache from being on the floor all night, or at least half of it, Ron sat up. It was then that he realised there was a blanket draped over him, one from the back of his favourite armchair. He tossed it roughly back to where it had been before as he stretched and went back up to the dorms to wash and brush his teeth. Hogwarts had house-elves, as he’d heard from some of the older years, but he’d thought they only went into the common rooms during lessons, when they could be sure that nobody would be in there.

His questions were soon answered when he saw Harry sitting on his bed, wearing the same clothes that he had last night, the invisibility cloak folded up next to him. There was a quill in his hand and a blank sheet of parchment in front of him, and Ron couldn’t tell whether he was conscious or not.

“Mate, have you been up all night?”

Harry startled and blinked, before looking up at the window where the sun was already beginning to come over the horizon. “Oh—yes, I suppose I have been. _Nox_.” The light at the end of Harry’s wand, which Ron hadn’t even noticed in the morning light, went out. He looked down at the parchment in front of him, clearly disappointed. “I didn’t even write anything down.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, yes I’m fine,” said Harry, putting everything aside. “You got back late last night.”

“Yeah, me and Hermione went the long way round after the STUDY meeting end ended up out after curfew, then we were nearly caught by Snape so we had to hide from him, which reminds me,” he dropped his voice, “we found this really cool room, it gives you whatever you want, Hermione asked me to ask you if you wanted to come along next time.”

“That sounds good, I’ll bring the invisibility cloak. Which reminds me, I did actually see you and Hermione nearly getting caught, I was following Snape at the time under the cloak, and you’ll never guess, he met Quirrell in the Forbidden Forest—” Harry paused in his whispering to look at Neville’s bed, where he was beginning to wake up. “I’ll tell you what happened later, with Hermione. Go get ready, I’m going to see if I can get a nap in before lessons.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry celebrates his first proper Christmas and a development is made in the tracking down of Nicolas Flamel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not dead yet, have a bit of an unedited filler chapter

The next few weeks passed in a haze of lessons and quidditch practice, and before Harry knew it, Christmas was just around the corner. He’d sent off for presents for Ron and Hermione, and had bought sweets for his dormmates to share, and even got a book on dragons for Hagrid. The festive decorations had everyone in high spirits and Harry was highly excited for his first Christmas with friends. Hermione had to go home to spend time with her family but Ron was staying at school because his family was going to Romania for Christmas. 

There was more snow at Hogwarts than there had ever been at Privet Drive, and Harry wondered whether it was because of how far north they were or if it was something to do with the magic. Either way, the dungeons were freezing. Even the Slytherins seemed to be affected by the cold, moving in tighter packs as usual and keeping closer to their cauldrons. Harry noticed how Malfoy pulled his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders as he sneered at the Gryffindor side of the classroom, but didn’t say anything. After he’d saved him from getting crushed by that troll, they’d formed—not a truce, exactly, but a sort of grudging respect. There had been no wands drawn, at least, even if their interactions never got much more friendly than completely ignoring each other. Even now, when Harry’s shivering hands caused him to add too much powdered unicorn horn to the potion they were brewing and caused a slight explosion, Malfoy didn’t react with much more than an eyeroll and some muttering to Crabbe and Goyle. 

It was strange.

Hermione and Ron also seemed to have picked up on this ceasefire and taken it further. More than once, he’d caught them sharing exasperated looks with Parkinson and Zabini after they passed Malfoy in the hall. It was possible that they’d come to some sort of agreement while they were left at the tree in the aftermath of Halloween, but that had been for less than five minutes. Parkinson and Zabini hadn’t been there for the troll incident, and five minutes alone with someone was nowhere near enough time for hatred to turn into friendship, so Harry pushed that thought from his mind. They were probably just tired of all the tension.

When they left the dungeons for the warmth of the corridors, where heating charms had been put up in all the most frequented areas, Ron and Harry bumped into Hagrid, who was carrying a huge Christmas tree over his shoulder like it was nothing.

“Want some help there?” asked Ron. Hagrid pushed some of the fir branches away and grinned when he realised who had spoken.

“Alright there, Ron, Harry? I’m good thanks, just got ter get this tree up to th’ Great Hall. Yeh should come wi’ me, they outdo themselves every year.”

McGonagall and Flitwick were putting up Christmas decorations when Hagrid arrived with Harry and Ron. He put the tree up in the far corner as the children looked around in awe. The huge Christmas tree that McGonagall was now modifying to look more shapely was only one of the dozen or so trees dotted around the walls of the Hall. Each of them was covered in candles, tinsel and baubles which corresponded with one of the four houses, and when Harry looked closer, he noticed that the pictures on the baubles moved just like the the paintings all around the school, some with stylized snowflakes falling across the curved surface and some with snowmen waving to him from inside the picture. The tree that McGonagall had reshaped was now being decorated with blue and bronze decorations and he saw Flitwick carefully directing golden bubbles around the hall with his wand until they filled the ceiling. 

Just as the last of the wreaths were being put up, Hermione came running up to them, tearing their gaze away from the stunning decorations. “Goodness, the hall looks lovely, but what are you two doing here? We should be in the library. I went straight there to wait for you, but you never arrived.”

“Oh yeah, sorry about that,” said Ron. Hagrid frowned down at them. 

“Just before the holidays? Who’s setting you work now?”

“Oh, it’s not for school. We’re researching Nicolas Flamel, have been ever since you let it slip.” Harry said, feeling slightly guilty as Hagrid’s smile dropped. 

“Now, yeh’d best stop meddling in this stuff. It doesn’t concern you.”

“We just want to know who Flamel is,” said Harry innocently. “Maybe if you told us, it would save us the trouble? We’ll find him eventually anyway, I know I’ve read the name somewhere…”

“I’m not saying anything,” Hagrid said firmly. Ron shrugged.

“I guess we’ll just have to keep looking, then.” 

The problem was that, with no leads whatsoever, it was extraordinarily difficult to find anything on him. Hermione had written a list of all the books she had read up until that point that could possibly include anything to do with Flamel from the past two centuries. She was only about halfway down the list, despite all the time they had spent in the library thus far. Ron was walking from bookshelf to bookshelf, looking for promising-looking books, occasionally interrupted by Hermione either taking that book as one on her list, or saying that she’d already read it and there was no Nicolas Flamel in there. Harry headed to the restricted section—if Dumbledore didn’t want it to be found, surely that was where it would be? Unfortunately, he had no permission to look at the books in there, and Madame Pince chased him away out of the library with a feather duster.

Five minutes later, Ron and Hermione joined him in the corridor. By the looks on their faces, they had been equally as unsuccessful as he had.

“You’ll keep looking while I’m gone, right?” said Hermione. “There’s only a few more books on the list, and if it’s not on there then I suppose we’ll have to look somewhere else.” She didn’t sound like she had much of an idea where else to look.

“Of course,” said Harry. “We’ll owl you if we find anything. And if you remember where you read it, let us know as soon as you can.”

“I will. Oh, and Ron, there won’t be any study meetings over Christmas. The others are going home for the holiday, too.”

“Bring back some muggle sweets for the next one,” said Ron. He and Hermione had told Harry that they had signed up for extra work after school, though Harry was suspicious that it was mostly Hermione’s idea. He didn’t know why he hadn’t been made to come too, but he wasn’t complaining. The amount of homework they were getting was already ridiculous.

“We should head back to the Great Hall.”

*

Harry woke up on Christmas Day to a pile of presents next to his bed. After the initial shock wore off—“Ron, I’ve got presents!”—he took a quill and scribbled a ‘Merry Christmas’ on his arm. “Should we open them now or later?”

“In my family, we always open one before breakfast and the rest after lunch,” said Ron, “but I’d rather open one now and the rest after breakfast. I can’t wait that long.”

“We can open each other’s now,” said Harry. Ron nodded and they each grabbed the parcel with their names on it.

Ron had gotten Harry a box of chocolate frogs and Harry had given him a set of biros that he’d managed to order through Hermione a week earlier. Ron seemed impressed by the pens and spent the hour before lunch scribbling on a piece of parchment and testing out the different colours. Harry warned him that the ink would run out eventually and it would be a while before he could order more ink for them while he started to open his chocolate frogs. Like everyone else, Harry had started to collect chocolate frog cards, and was delighted to see that he’d gotten Artemisia Lufkin who he hadn’t managed to find yet. He fiddled with the shiny box while he waited for breakfast, willing himself not to eat all of them in one sitting. 

Finally, Ron looked up from his parchment. “You got Lufkin? Lucky, she took me ages to find. She’s not even supposed to be that rare.”

“I guess I just got lucky,” Harry said, adding it it his collection. “Shall we go down to the Great Hall? It’s nearly time for breakfast.”

“We should,” Ron said, casting a wistful eye over their gifts. He blanched a little when he spotted a slightly lumpy present on Harry’s bed from Mrs Weasley, but wouldn’t say why.

The decorations in the Hall looked just as good as they had when they were being put up. Harry noticed that no pine needles had fallen from the trees. When he asked Percy Weasley about it, he found out that there were stasis charms on all of them, put there by Dumbledore himself.

The breakfast was remarkably simple—most people had smoked salmon sandwiches, but there was fruit and cereal too. Nobody ate much more than they needed, and when asked, Ron said that they were saving themselves for dinner.

“Everyone’s going to be eating sweets and stuff throughout the day anyway, and the Christmas feast is apparently even bigger than the start of year feast. Nobody wants to miss out on pudding because they’re too full. I think that’s stupid because it’s traditional to eat everything you can get your hands on at Christmas, could you pass the butter?”

Breakfast passed quickly and soon they were heading back up to the Gryffindor common room. While Harry was getting dressed, he noticed that his soulmate had replied with a “Merry Christmas” on his other arm. He showed Ron, who raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

Once they were dressed, they went back to opening presents. Hermione had sent them both muggle sweets, a Cadbury’s chocolate bar for Harry and Jellybeans for Ron. Hagrid had given Harry a wooden recorder which he remembered how to play from his lessons in year three, even if he was a bit rusty, and Mrs Weasley had sent a box of homemade fudge and an emerald green jumper, much to Ron’s chagrin.

“I may have mentioned that you never got proper presents at Christmas and she’s gone and made you a Weasley jumper,” he said, looking rather pink. He unwrapped his own. “Yep, mine’s maroon, as usual. You don’t have to wear it, it’s a bit embarrassing.”

“I think it’s brilliant,” Harry grinned, pulling it on over his shirt. “The fudge looks great, too.”

“Oh, it is! Mum’s a brilliant cook and she makes it every Christmas. We normally have it with dinner, but since we’re not going home this year she’s sent it as a present. I expect Fred, George and Percy have gotten some too.”

The Dursleys had sent a gift this year too, probably out of fear that they’d be cursed if they didn’t. Harry handed the fifty-pence piece to Ron. Now that he thought of it, the shape was quite strange. He made a mental note to get a five-pound note at some point since that probably looked weirder to people who’d never used paper money before.

There was just one package left. It didn’t come with a note to say who it was from, but it wasn’t moving and it had been on the end of his bed for half the night without hurting him, so he imagined that it wasn’t anything too dangerous.

He opened it up and a silvery cloth spilled onto the bed. When he picked it up, it weighed virtually nothing, to the point that if he closed his eyes it was almost like he wasn’t holding anything at all. Ron was staring at it with wide eyes.

“No way, you got an invisibility cloak! Who gave you that?”

“It doesn’t say… do you mean that if I put this on, I’ll be invisible?” He wrapped his hand in it. “That’s kind of unsettling.”

“That’s incredible! Invisibility cloaks are rare, even to us wizards. I’m so jealous, why didn’t they say who they are?”

“Hang on, there’s a note.” Harry reached reached into the wrapping paper it had come in and took out a piece of parchment. The loopy writing on it wasn’t anything he recognized. “It says that it used to belong to my dad. He left it to whoever gave it to me before he died.” He stared at the silky fabric in his lap. “This is my dad’s old cloak…”

Ron watched him silently for a few moments before clearing his throat. “Well, we should probably head back down to the common room. I want to see Percy having a crisis over his jumper, he always refuses to take it to school.”

When they arrived in the common room, Fred and George were pulling a jumper over Percy’s head. His arms hadn’t quite made it to the sleeves, and as such were pinned to his side. Harry suppressed a laugh, with little success, as he watched the twins drag him over to the fireplace. Spotting Harry and Ron, they gestured for them to come too.

“Harry’s got a Weasley jumper, too!” said one of the twins. His own jumper had a large F on the front, but Harry knew that they habitually pretended to be each other so he was more than suspicious that he was really George. The other twin—Fred, probably—commented on the quality of Harry’s jumper. “Mum clearly puts more effort in if you’re not family.”

“Did she send you fudge, too?” said Ron.

“Yeah, we already ate it though,” Probably-Fred said. “Highlight of our Christmas, I’ll tell you what.”

Percy looked at him disdainfully. “You really shouldn’t be eating so much so early in the morning.”

“That’s what Christmas is for,” Ron pointed out. “Harry’s already had a chocolate frog.”

“I’ve had two, actually,” he admitted sheepishly. “I’m trying to make up for the one I lost on the Express.”

“A noble pursuit, Harry, but don’t expect anything from us,” said George. “Unless you want Lockhart. We got his card this morning and we’d rather keep my collection free of him.”

“Who’s that?”

“You don’t want to know,” said Ron. “Just accept the card, he’s not that common.”

“Alright, then,” said Harry. The twins’ friend Lee soon showed up and abducted the twins and Percy took that as a sign that he could leave uninterrupted, leaving just Harry and Ron by the fireplace. Ron took out a brand-new chess set that he had received, hand-crafted by Hagrid, and started practicing with it in order to gain the pieces’ loyalty. Harry took another chocolate frog and ate it while he started to write thank-you notes to the people who had given him presents.

The chocolate frog card he got in the box was Dumbledore, the same one he had gotten on the train. He took it out and flipped it over, re-reading the back for something to do. A moment later, his eyes widened.

“Ron, I’ve found him! I’ve found Flamel!”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey shout out to the people who commented on this work, I hope 2021 is to you what 2020 was hyped up to be
> 
> \- Avery


End file.
